Breakfast with Sara
by Joan Powers
Summary: Post Unbearable Sara is curious about Grissom's motives for asking her to breakfast. GS angst & romance COMPLETE Ch 9 Grissom, I need to know. What's different now? Last year I heard you tell a complete stranger that you couldn't do it.
1. Default Chapter

Breakfast with Sara

By Joan Powers

This story is a continuation of my previous story entitled "Unbearable", my response to the episode of the same title. I just can't let this stuff go. This is my advice to TPTB as to how to advance Grissom and Sara's growing relationship. Thanks as always to Leslie for putting up with all my annoying questions.

Rating: PG

Timeline/Spoilers: Post "Unbearable"

Summary: Sara is curious about Grissom's motives for asking her to breakfast.

Sara 

Sara was exhausted. She'd spent the last twenty-four hours working on a case that ended up with her scouring the pieces of a partially dismantled Chevy for over four hours. Her back and neck ached, yet she'd discovered the miniscule pieces of evidence that supported their case and resulted in the arrest of a suspect.

She should be feeling satisfied, pleased by a job well done. Yet, all she wanted to do was go home. The remnants of motor oil underneath her fingernails felt gritty, despite repeated washings. Even her hair felt unkempt and grimy, although she'd pulled it up for work. She'd just removed her oil stained coveralls when a deep voice interrupted her.

"Sara?"

_Oh no, what did I do now?_

She looked up to discover the last person she wanted to see. Gil Grissom was standing in the doorway of the locker room.

Assuming it was about the case they'd just completed, she assured him. "I put all the paperwork on your desk." She didn't bother to maintain eye contact as she stuffed her soiled coveralls into the laundry basket. What was the point anyway?

His voice lacked its typical confidence. "Sara, are you…" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Are you free for breakfast?"

_Am I hearing right?_

She froze, sorely tempted to clean her ears out with her fingertips, just to make sure. Then she chided herself, realizing that, as usual, she was reading far too much into this. She hated herself, that her heart rate had momentarily sky rocketed, that despite _everything_, he still had this effect on her.

"Sure, you want me to go get Greg?" she offered. She was a team player. They'd all worked the case together. A little celebration was customary and in order. But she certainly wasn't going to voluntarily track down Sophia.

"No," he quickly added, while checking over his shoulder. "Just us."

She was tempted to turn him down; she was worn out. Besides she was having one of those days. Or was it more like one of those months? Or years? Yet, she couldn't resist him.

"Okay." He waited patiently while she organized her things and took down her hair, and then they strode out of the building together.

Sophia was walking back towards the lab. She ignored Sara as she flipped her blonde hair off her shoulder and smiled flirtatiously at Grissom. Sara ignored the sickening display as the acid churned in her stomach.

As they approached his Denali, they made innocuous small talk, general office chitchat that neither one of them truly cared about. Their tolerance for such chatter rapidly wore thin and they entered his SUV in silence.

_What the hell is this all about?_

Of course Sara was fully aware of Grissom's dinner with Sophia last week. Half the lab staff had made it their personal mission to inform her, while the main participants had been discrete about it. It hurt her to see the way that woman flirted with him. But what was worse was the way he flirted back. Her stomach was protesting again, the knots becoming tighter.

_How could he?_

When she first heard, fortunately she'd been on her way out to recheck a crime scene. So she was able to secretly sob in her Denali, taking only a few minutes longer to repair her appearance and then reach her assigned destination.

_How could he do such a thing? _

She guessed she was second string. Sophia warranted dinner, while Sara was the equivalent of scraps, only eligible for breakfast. After all, she was damaged goods.

Then again, as she took a calming breath, Grissom didn't owe her anything. It wasn't as if they'd ever dated or even claimed to be close friends. She had no rights to him; he'd never made her any promises. Last year, in the interrogation room, she'd heard his confession to Dr. Lurie. Even if he once was interested in her, he couldn't bring himself to pursue her so he was moving on. And so should she.

So she strove to quell the pangs of jealousy that were threatening to torment her. She was angry, and hurt. She didn't want his pity. She craved more. But that most likely was never going to happen.

Her darkening mood threatened to propel her into self-pity, but that wouldn't help her. Instead she stubbornly clung to her anger and her mantra that she didn't need anyone anyway. No one had ever helped her and she'd managed to survive her horrendous childhood. She'd even managed to put herself through Harvard, graduating with honors. Now she was an excellent crime scene investigator. She was self-reliant; she didn't need anyone.

With surprise, she noticed that Grissom had driven past the usual group haunts for breakfast. She looked past him in askance, but he seemed preoccupied by his own thoughts. Perhaps he was taking her to a new place that he'd discovered with Sophia? It wasn't as if she'd shared a meal that recently with him, the way he'd been avoiding her for over a year.

_What is Grissom up to?_

Knowing her luck and their history, it couldn't be good. Could it be another reprimand from Ecklie? Or had the administration given up on her completely and Grissom was letting her off as gently as he knew how? As much as a tiny portion within her refused to give up hope for something better, she refused to set herself up for more disappointment.

He pulled into the parking lot of a more upscale diner. "Thought it'd be nice to try something different," he offered.

_Hmm…something new. _

That way no one would recognize the young brunette who was sobbing in the corner after discovering that she'd lost her job, the last thing in her life that held any meaning for her, while the older gentleman merely fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

_Stop that Sidle, you're being paranoid. You still have your pride._

They entered the diner and sat at a booth. It was a nice place, with actual table clothes and real cut flowers in vases on the tables. She wondered how the food was, though that was a moot point. In her current state of mind, she'd barely taste it. Grissom ordered pancakes, while Sara only asked for a fruit plate.

When he stared at her, she merely explained, "I'm not that hungry."

Anger wasn't good for her digestion. They began to speak of cases, familiar, safe territory that they were both comfortable with; after all, this wasn't a date.

Gil Grissom confused the hell out of her. Just when it seemed like they were starting to connect, when she'd gone out on a limb sharing some of her feelings and her past with him, he appeared to be romancing another woman. She clung to her hurt and indignation, her outright anger and jealousy, stubbornly not wanting to let it go. Yet she wasn't going to let him know how deeply he'd hurt her. She wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

When their food arrived, they ate in strained silence.

Why had she bothered to tell him how she felt? She'd already given him plenty of signals that she cared about him. She'd even asked him out to dinner which was probably a huge mistake since, on the whole, men don't like being pursued, that whole frail male ego thing.

She did it because she had to, because it was eating her up inside. She did it for her own peace of mind. Because after hearing his confession, she foolishly felt that it might make a difference, to him.

In the process of chewing a piece of melon, something seemed to change.

"Sara, are you okay?"

She nearly choked on her food. He was really asking, those well-fortified barriers were dropping, and he seemed to be honestly trying to connect with her.

Though she was pleased, she wasn't going to let it be that easy for him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She continued to pick at her fruit in a lack luster fashion.

He attempted to hold her gaze, unsuccessfully. "Are you…are you getting any help?"

_Oh, so that's what all this was about. _

Her anger threatened to gush out, as she strove to remain neutral. "That way you can document things for the files, keep the department's ass covered."

_And your own._

She became flippant. "As a matter fact, no I'm not. Do you have to fire me now?"

He protested, "Sara, this has nothing to do with work. What happened to you in the past is none of their damn business. I'm not here as your boss."

_This ought to be good._

"So what are you here as?" She was intrigued, she knew he couldn't easily answer such a loaded question; she enjoyed seeing him blush and squirm in his seat.

"As.." He thought very seriously, "as someone who cares about you." Wow, he was even able to look her in the eyes as he said it.

She was beginning to regret her bad attitude, but it was her only armor.

"Um…I don't need any counseling. I've been dealing with these issues all of my life. I'm fine. I can handle it. Don't worry, I won't make you look bad."

"I don't care about that," he firmly stated. He was struggling with his words. "Do you remember when we searched Kay Shelton's apartment? The woman we found wrapped up tightly in a blanket in the woods?"

She nodded. Of course she remembered.

"Do you remember how upset you got?"

She became defensive, "Because that jerk beat his wife and killed her. He thought he was going to get away with it too. Do you remember how he treated me? I had every reason to be angry."

"Honey, what if…what if the next time something like that happens he hits _you_? These guys have short triggers. They're strong, they can easily over power you. What if you lose your temper with the wrong suspect?"

She'd been preparing to vehemently deny that possibility but the look in his eyes stopped her cold. He was scared. Scared that she'd be hurt.

Her soft response came out before she could repress it. "It's not like it hasn't happened before."

Grissom visibly flinched. "Did your father hit you?"

"Yeah, so did my mother," she answered in a matter of fact fashion. That was life in her family. During most of her childhood, she'd thought everyone lived like that.

_Oh my God._

Grissom was reaching across the table for her hand. At first she intended to eagerly lean forward to grasp it, then she decided to make him do more of the work, to reach over more than halfway across table. It was time for him to put more effort into this. Their fingers contacted one another and tightly intertwined.

He hadn't stopped looking at her the entire time.

"Sara, I did some research and I got some recommendations for Counselors who specialize in this area. I'll give you their cards. Please Sara, please consider it." He squeezed her hand as he spoke.

"I don't know." She didn't see how rehashing the past would make any difference for her future. Besides she'd already met with her PEAP counselor for several sessions. What was the difference?

"Please Sara."

She didn't recognize the tone of his voice; she'd never heard it before. It wasn't begging, but it certainly wasn't an average request either.

"I'll think about it," was all she could say.

"Sara, did…" his voice trailed off. He had something else on his mind. Something apparently too upsetting to put into words by his expression. He didn't continue.

They sat quietly for a few moments, the remnants of breakfast all but forgotten. They gazed into each other's eyes, barriers lowered, while tightly holding hands. Then the waitress arrived, delivering the check, destroying the fragile interlude. It was over.

Sara reached for her wallet, but Grissom insisted. "It's on me."

The End or TBC?

(Anyone interested in this scene from Grissom's POV? I was thinking about it myself…)


	2. Defining Moments

**A/N** Sorry about the erratic nature of the updates to this story. I'll try to do better next time. I was hoping to be inspired by the most recent CSI episodes, though I have some ideas of my own to run with instead. Glad to hear so many of you enjoyed Chapter 1! Great to hear from you! Thanks! And thanks to smryczko for her wonderfully helpful comments on this chapter.

**Chapter 2** Defining Moments

Grissom 

It had started off as a routine db investigation. Yet, the minute he discovered that there was even a hint of domestic abuse, he conveniently switched Greg to a new assignment, and then he practically glued himself to Sara's side. Unfortunately, she misinterpreted his motives. Her stubborn frown and her thinly veiled hostile glances were evidence of that.

Initially he was frustrated by her reaction, hadn't he explained himself over breakfast that day? Didn't she realize that he hovered only because he was worried about her? Why didn't she understand? Although she strongly suspected it, he wasn't overly concerned with protecting the department's reputation; in fact, it wasn't high on his agenda. In addition to solving the case, keeping Sara safe ranked as his highest priority.

As the investigation proceeded, Sara became increasingly annoyed by his nearly smothering presence. It was puzzling, for normally the two of them worked so well together, they'd always been able to silently anticipate one another's thoughts and moves. They made a good team. Thus, it was even more confusing to him that he was acting so overly sensitive, practically staring at her half the time, trying to gage her reaction to every little insignificant detail. Of course, she'd feel as if he doubted her capability.

He couldn't explain the odd panicked feelings that gripped his gut like a vise; they were completely irrational. The emotions were unfamiliar and disturbing. In fact, he was embarrassed by his uncharacteristic behavior; the ridges of his ears were even somewhat warm. Yet he was powerless to stop himself.

Sara was a highly qualified investigator; he had total confidence in her abilities. However, with her recently disclosed traumatic personal history and numerous other current developments, she had every reason to be on edge. Despite his or her personal comfort zone, at all costs, he had to be sure that she was all right. After this case, he'd insist that she use some of her massively accrued vacation time. He'd even personally escort her to one of those counselors that he'd suggested, if she hadn't already heeded his pleas. Otherwise, he'd never be able to truly rest again.

When it was time to interrogate the suspect at the station, Sara insisted upon taking the lead, her defensive stance practically daring him to attempt to replace her, or remove her from the case. Sara always did have to do things the hard way; she wasn't one to run away from difficult situations. Given her family history, most likely, she'd always had to face them alone.

He probably should've pulled rank on her, for she was already riled up and distracted. And every irrational fiber in his being shrieked that it was far too dangerous, he was tense just thinking about it. But he owed it to her; he wanted her to know that he did have confidence in her. He couldn't take that away from her, regardless of his mounting anxiety. So he let her direct the questioning, with him close by her side.

At first, the session proceeded as expected. Still Grissom found himself reaching for his sidearm, to pat it and assure himself that it was there, just in case. The suspect was hesitant yet cooperative. He was a handsome man who exuded charm. It was difficult to believe that he could've committed such a crime. However, once Sara began to confront him with the evidence, his amiable façade crumbled. Sara's questions became more animated, more probing, as she tried to break him down, tried to catch him in his intricate web of lies.

Things got out of hand, fast.

When the suspect lunged towards Sara, smashing his fist into her face, Grissom's reaction was visceral. He grabbed his weapon and fired, immediately, aiming directly at the suspect's temple. The horrifyingly graphic image of the man's head exploding and blood and tissue clumps splattering all about caused him to scream.

And wake up.

What the hell was that? 

He gasped for breath, sitting bolt upright in his bed, as his body continued to tremble. He was covered with a thin layer of cold sweat and his heart was hammering like crazy in his chest. Not for the first time, he wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like.

Why does this dream keep haunting me? Why won't it go away? 

What were dreams anyway? Just the subconscious working out minor unresolved issues? A type of mental housecleaning that was essentially helpful yet lacking any deeper meaning? Or were dreams more significant, as Freud suggested? Did they represent reflections of our true inner subconscious? Perhaps they resulted from deeper primal forces within the spiritual component of the body that demanded for their voices to be heard? He'd never held much stock in the latter interpretations, until recently.

He'd hoped that talking with Sara about her problem would make the dreams go away, thus his breakfast invitation. If he knew she was getting help, seeing a professional who would help her continue to deal with the horrors of her past, perhaps then he could finally rest. Although she'd completed her sessions with the PEAP counselor, her recent outburst in the interrogation room proved that it hadn't been sufficient.

It had been difficult enough for him to get up the nerve to approach her. It took him over two weeks. Why was everything with Sara so difficult? Asking Sophia to dinner had been easy. Though to be fair, it was a spur of the moment type of thing. However, at dinner their conversation had flowed effortlessly; it had seemed so natural and it had been pleasant. It reminded him that he _was_ feeling lonely, and that he might have to address this need for companionship in his life.

So why couldn't he just start off fresh with Sophia? She was attractive and intelligent; he enjoyed her company. Why couldn't he follow a simpler path that held less resistance, one that presented fewer obstacles? Simply try to be happy? Why not?

_You know why._

At least over their breakfast, he hoped that he conveyed to Sara that he cared about her and that he wanted her to get help. Had she followed his suggestion? Her initial reaction had been tentative, though he couldn't fully blame her; he hadn't given her ample reasons for trusting him these days. That thought hurt him more than he realized.

So why did the dream keep occurring? Haunting him, reeking havoc with his neatly ordered life? He felt as if there were a cauldron of emotions literally simmering within him. He ignored them as best he could, slamming the lid on top of them. He didn't want anything to do with them; their intensity frightened him. He didn't want to get burned when they bubbled over the edge of the pot. He wanted to be in control. Once those feelings boiled over or leaked out of the tightly shut container of his subconscious, he'd be in trouble. He was scared.

Should he ask her at work if she was getting help? Though, he didn't want to be intrusive, nor did he want to reinforce her notion that his concern was only work related. He was tempted to even call her right now, at her home; his heart was pounding so fast. He was desperate to quench his gnawing fears for her safety. But would that make a difference?

For tonight, despite the fact that he'd spoken with her, that he'd tried to act in such a way to assuage his fears, the dream had gotten worse.

Before, the dream had ended as it had countless times before with the suspect breaking Sara's nose, the blood gushing down her face. He'd awaken, fully experiencing the terror of witnessing that gruesome event. Since he was a coward, he chose not to overanalyze the powerful emotions that were coursing through him, as he struggled to regain his composure.

Many times, he feebly assured himself that he'd have the same reaction if the woman was Catherine or possibly even Sophia. It was because the victim was someone that he knew, that accounted for why he couldn't emotionally detach himself.

Who are you kidding? 

But tonight, in this newly extended version of the dream, it had gone one step further; he'd taken a man's life, without a moment of hesitation or any regard for the consequences. He'd done it coldly, precisely, using an overabundance of deadly force.

What kind of a man was he? He'd been appalled by the savagery within him. Was he no better than the criminals he prosecuted? Was he inherently an evil man or would any man do such a thing when pushed beyond his limits? He was deeply shaken.

Or maybe he was taking himself too seriously; after all it was just a dream. But those were possibly an indication of his subconscious desires, so he wasn't able to derive much comfort from that thought.

The emotions welling up within in him were unfamiliar. If his gun hadn't been handy, he felt certain that he would've beaten that man bloody with his fists. It was rage, blind rage, that someone could hurt someone like this.

_Be honest Grissom. That someone could hurt _Sar_a like this._

His mask was slipping; his ability to suppress his feelings was failing, because he was beginning to allow himself to see the truth, shining brightly as if illuminated by massive floodlights.

His life had changed a lot in the past few months. Ecklie had done his best to humiliate him at the lab, dismantling his trusted team, taking away Nick and Warrick. His pride in his lab and its accomplishments along with his sense of inner peace in his sanctuary had been affected.

His closest friend, Catherine, had been switched to Swing shift, and now she seemed to believe that he was questioning her authority and her ability to lead an investigation. Though to be fair to Catherine, the transition from being one of the troops to becoming the leader could be tricky, and it took time. He missed their casual banter and her insightful comments. She'd always had a much better handle on the human element than he did.

Then there was Sara: her disappointment that he didn't recommend her for the key position, the shock of her DUI, her deeply personal revelations about her true reasons for coming to Vegas and her hideous family secret, along with her recent altercations with Catherine and Ecklie.

Each event had influenced him, some more than others, each creating minor chinks in his protective armor. Yet as a result, now there were several sizable dents, they were beginning to accumulate and test the integrity of the material.

Surprisingly he'd been extremely touched that Sara had actually come to Vegas for him. That suggested that her feelings for him were far more substantial than he'd originally imagined. He'd tried to ask her to go out to do something at that moment, yet he had trouble getting the words out, she'd caught him off guard. Her account of her past had greatly disturbed him. In his line of work, he'd heard worse, yet no version had ever pierced the protective covering of his heart like hers had.

The solid ice block surrounding his heart was beginning to crack.

That unfamiliar rage began to well up again as he thought about Sara's family and her unfortunate upbringing. Ever since she'd spoken with him about it, parts of her words kept replaying in his mind at odd instances. He'd mentally reviewed their encounter with Kay Shelton's husband, many times, trying to reassess Sara's reactions in light of his current knowledge.

Unfortunately, he could also recall her gut reaction to rape victims such as Pam Adler and Linley Parker. At breakfast, he'd almost come right out and asked her, only to discover that he couldn't handle the truth. If her father had sexually abused her, it would deeply grieve him, certainly sending him over the edge into the dark abyss.

_Stop fooling yourself._

No matter how much he tried to deny it, Sara was deeply rooted within his heart. He could have dinner with Sophia or any other woman, every day of the week; hell he could even have sex with them for that matter. It was be nice, he'd enjoy it but ultimately, it would be in vain, for it was destined to be a casual safe relationship, devoid of true passion. Should he settle for an attractive package yet an essentially empty relationship? Was he that much of a coward?

If he faced the truth, that he had these feelings for Sara, could he be man enough to pursue her? Could he ignore his urgent craving for caution and seize the chance to pursue his heart's desire? These types of opportunities were rare and they wouldn't last forever.

The intensity of his emotions frightened him. He didn't want to be out of control. He didn't want her to control him. But maybe she already was controlling him, in an indirect manner? Maybe he was already past the point of no return? His dreams certainly wouldn't allow him to maintain the status quo much longer.

Who was it that said, "Even if you stand still, the world around you continues to change"? For it was true, despite his best efforts of dragging his heals to resist it. And he no longer had the convenient reason of his failing hearing to fall back upon. He was running out of excuses.

After the events of the last few months, he didn't want to lose anything or any one else. But was it too late to do something about this?

_You know what you have to do. _

But could he do it?

TBC


	3. When Dreams Come True

**A/N** Great to hear from all of you! Thanks for your comments! Real life has been challenging so I haven't had as much writing time, but I'll do my best to keep updating this story. Special thanks go to Leslie, Ms. Grits, and smryczko for their greatly appreciated feedback.

**NOTE: Due to mature subject matter, this chapter is rated R or T.**

**Chapter 3 **When Dreams Come True

Grissom

Even though, he'd come closer to committing himself to a decisive course of action, he progressed slowly. After all, he was still Gil Grissom; that was his style, caution was almost second nature to him. Although he hadn't gotten up the nerve to actively pursue Sara, he'd taken a step. He'd made a conscious effort to speak with her more at work, to attempt to ease any tension between them and rekindle their friendship.

At first it was a little awkward, as he stopped by the lab more frequently, ostensibly to discuss the progress of her latest cases with her. It was tricky for he didn't want her to think that he was checking up on her or that he had any doubts about the quality of her work.

Yet, despite the initial discomfort, after briefly discussing business, he'd linger, to ask one or two more personal questions, as he fixed his eyes upon hers and focused solely on her. His preliminary attempts at this type of conversation backfired, her replies were clipped because she was involved in her work and she didn't want to be disturbed. She seemed suspicious of his motives, as well.

While he was slightly discouraged by her lack of response, he persisted and as the days passed by and they fell into a more predictable routine, she appeared to welcome the opportunity to talk with him, sometimes greeting him with a smile.

They never spoke for very long; after all they were at work. Nor did they speak about anything too personal. He'd ask about how she was doing, not expecting intimate details, yet he'd wait patiently, hoping for more than a cursory single word reply. He'd also ask about how she slept or if she'd seen certain shows on TV about Shakespeare, opera, baseball, or some other shared interests, and even if she'd tried the new Chinese restaurant that recently opened down the block from the lab.

Although his dreams relentlessly prodded him to ask about her counseling, he refrained, for this would only be the proper setting to express his concern as her supervisor, not as a man who cared deeply about her.

Soon he discovered that he was enjoying his new ritual and that he looked forward to spending those few minutes each shift with her. He became bolder, starting to pair them together more often on assignments, so they occasionally drove to crime scenes together. He'd go out of his way to bring her coffee, prepared the way she liked it.

Had she noticed his efforts?

Perhaps. Sara appeared to be paying more attention to her hair and makeup. Rather than the natural look she'd favored over the last year, she'd started choosing more becoming shades of eye shadow, with a hint of blush accentuating her cheekbones. She'd even taken to wearing more complementary clothing, which, though practical, were more stylish. These included slim cut pants that showcased her wonderfully long legs, and more fitted colorful tops that were equally flattering.

While he had always considered Sara to be a beautiful woman regardless of what she wore, he noticed and appreciated these subtle changes. Perhaps her appearance impressed him even more lately because he was finally allowing himself to look at her, for his eyes to rest upon her, without quickly darting away. It was a hard habit to break, one that he didn't even realize that he'd developed, sneaking furtive glances at her. He surprised himself by complimenting her on her appearance on several occasions.

Yet he wasn't completely sure that these changes were purely for his benefit.

He nearly collided with a wall the first time he witnessed Detective Larson flirting with Sara. They were finishing up at a crime scene when he caught the tone of their voices. Instantly, he ceased paying attention to where he was going, his eyes latching on to her face as his temple simultaneously grazed the wall. Thankfully no one else noticed his gaff for they were too busy looking at each other. The tall, dark haired detective, newly arrived from LA, was smiling at Sara, shamelessly checking her out while quizzing her about her social life. And she was smiling back.

As he absently rubbed the bump on his head, his stomach tightened. He froze, rooted to the spot, while pointedly listening to their exchange. The old tapes started to play in his head.

_It's too late; she's given up on me. She's moving on. She'd be happier with him anyway._ _He's closer to her age._

But rather than wallowing in those thoughts as he'd done in the past, he abruptly shut them off. He laughed ruefully at himself, for he finally construed how Sara must have perceived his interactions with Sophia. He made a mental note to be more circumspect about his behavior around Sophia, for although he had flirted with her, he realized that he had no interest in pursuing a relationship with her.

He'd finally made up his mind. He wasn't going to settle for safe or easy, or for a relationship that was destined to be devoid of passion. No more excuses. He wanted it all. He wanted Sara.

Now he just needed to figure out the best way to proceed. Dinner was usually a good way to start, yet in light of his recent dinner with Sophia, asking Sara out for the same type of date seemed like it could be considered to be in bad taste. Whatever he planned, he wanted it to be special. And for Sara to understand how special she was to him. This was going to take some thought, though he'd always been intrigued by challenges.

Lately Sara seemed to be responding more positively to him, but she still didn't actively seek his company. Fortunately for him, although she seemed to enjoy talking with Detective Larson, she wasn't throwing herself at him either. Somehow the subtle balance of power between the two of them had shifted, he was no longer calling all the shots. He hadn't even realized that he used to have that power over her, and that he'd blatantly taken advantage of it in the past.

As he embraced his decision to pursue her, he found himself becoming more daring. The next day, when Sara casually asked him what he did that day, while off work, he told her. The widening of her eyes revealed her surprise in his candor. Also, under her keen observation, she lead him to confess that he was having trouble sleeping, though he didn't go into the reasons. For Grissom, these were significant steps; he'd always had trouble letting people into his personal life. He hoped that she appreciated that.

He was also surprised to discover that he felt somewhat relieved. Up to this point, the only battle being actively waged had been within himself; now he was focused on an external goal. Not to say he wasn't nervous, or that all of his doubts had been extinguished; they just weren't screaming as loudly as his growing need to be closer to Sara. He was also keenly aware of the possibility that his actions could be construed as far too little and too late.

A plan was beginning to emerge in his head when, it happened. His dream, or more aptly, his nightmare became a flesh and blood reality before his eyes. Sara and Greg had a potential domestic abuse case. Sophia had been chatting with him in his office, much to his chagrin, he was having trouble getting her to break that habit, when Greg stopped by with preliminary case information.

Sophia asked him if he was feeling all right, for she noticed his immediate reaction to Greg's report. He abruptly brushed her aside and strode out the room while trying to control his breathing and maintain his composure.

The feelings weren't any where near the intensity of the dream, they were uncomfortable yet they were manageable. He was unsteady, but he was able to keep his emotions in check. After splashing some cold water on his face in the men's room, he returned to the lab to change the assignments, much to the dismay of Sophia and Greg, without a hint of explanation. He was the supervisor; he didn't need to explain himself. Or, more importantly, he could get away with it because he was Gil Grissom. No one expected an explanation from him.

Sara wasn't thrilled by his actions either; she bristled, most likely believing that he lacked confidence in her ability to handle such a case. Thankfully, unlike his dream, he was able to control himself during their investigation such that his behavior appeared somewhat normal and it didn't interfere with their work. Still, he caught himself staring at Sara on a few occasions, trying to gage her reactions.

When the two of them examined the body with Doc Robbins, it appeared that there might only be surface similarities to the case of his recurring nightmare. However, it was a disturbing case, nonetheless, even for a seasoned veteran.

The female victim's naked body, which had been wrapped up in a blanket, was stashed in a secluded area of the woods. Seasonal rain along with the insects and animals that had been attracted to the blood had advanced its decomposition. A pair of hikers had the misfortune to stumble across it. If additional time had passed, there would have been few distinguishing features left to identify the victim.

The woman had been violated by a foreign object, which pierced her internally and resulted in massive hemorrhaging. Most likely within minutes, she'd bled to death. There were other irregularities as well; her body seemed to have sustained multiple lacerations of an undetermined nature, though they could've occurred postmortem. There were also ligature marks on her wrists, suggesting she'd been restrained during the assault. Doc Robbins needed more time to analyze these findings, he hadn't completed his examination.

He'd initially concentrated on uncovering sufficient information to attempt to identify the victim, and to determine the preliminary cause and time of death. Evidence of a formerly dislocated collarbone, along with some older facial fractures, produced the red flags that suggested the possibility of spousal abuse.

Sara had been pouring over dental records and domestic violence reports, when Grissom joined her on the investigation. After narrowing down the hits they obtained from her search, they were able make a positive ID. Grissom and Sara were accompanied by Detective Larson to notify and interview her spouse, as was customary.

Grissom wasn't pleased with having to deal with Detective Larson. With so many unsettling aspects of this case, he would've preferred to work with his trusted friend, Jim Brass. He had good instincts, which would be extremely useful in this type of investigation. Yet, he wasn't being fair, Grissom hadn't worked with Detective Larson long enough to develop a well rounded opinion of his investigative skills. He also knew that his objectivity was compromised; that he instinctively disliked the man because he paid undue attention to Sara.

When the husband heard the news about his wife, he seemed sad, yet he didn't visibly grieve. He claimed he thought his wife was away, visiting a friend. It was immediately apparent that he didn't have a reliable alibi for his location at the suspected time of his wife's murder. These observations lead Detective. Larson to grill the man more intently; he implied that the man could be in trouble if he didn't cooperate fully.

The detective's intimidation tactics didn't impress Grissom. He should know that solid evidence was far more reliable than a person's words. Didn't he know that there were also inherent dangers in following gut hunches? He could prejudice the entire case. An investigator had to remain objective or he was useless. In fact, Grissom was concerned that if any pertinent information would be obtained at this time, it could be considered tainted due to the questionable manner in which it was obtained.

So Grissom insisted on conferring privately with Detective Larson, to stress his objections to his tactics. The infuriating man simply gave him a condescending look and assured Grissom that he knew a guilty man when he saw him. In that instant, with a passing glance, the two men tacitly acknowledged their mutual dislike of each other.

The victim's husband was a prominent business man in the area, with a solid reputation, he wanted to avoid even the appearance of impropriety so he agreed that Grissom and Sara could search the premises while Detective Larson brought him to the station to examine his wife's body. Since Grissom felt this consent would hold up in court, he didn't protest.

When the door closed behind Detective Larson and the husband, Grissom fought the urge to comment on the detective's forceful methods, sensing he'd come off as jealous rather than truly concerned about the case. They began to methodically scan the rooms for anything unusual. The couple was well off; their home was a showplace, filled with stylish modern furniture, various pieces of art along with gleaming metallic tables and shelves.

Sara analyzed several sharp utensils she'd discovered in the kitchen, taking swabs and testing for the presence of blood. Her results were negative. They searched the laundry and garbage cans, both interior and exterior, for bloody bedding or articles of clothing, with no results.

Finally, Grissom and Sara entered the enormous master bedroom, which appeared to be in perfect order, like the rest of the house. Grissom was starting to wonder if the spouse was involved in the crime after all. He grinned slightly thinking that at least he'd get the satisfaction of having Detective Larson's infamous gut instincts proven wrong.

Then he paused by the bed. "Do you smell that?" It was faint, the windows were wide open with the breeze blowing into the room, but his sensitive nose could detect it. It amazed him that so many people thought they could get away with this stuff.

Sara stepped closer to him and sniffed carefully, recognizing the familiar odor. She grinned as she met his eyes. "Bleach."

Grissom closed the blinds to darken the room as Sara tried to track the source of the odor. Spraying the bedspread with luminol didn't yield anything. The mattress itself was clean too. However, the wooden floor from the bed to the sliding glass patio door lit up a bloody trail.

"Crimes of passion usually take place in the bedroom," he commented wryly.

"We'll have to get a warrant to search his vehicles." Sara thought out loud. "So he kills her in the bed, then drags her outside to his car or truck to get rid of the body. But why isn't the bed showing anything if this is where it happened? He must've gotten rid of the bedding, but the mattress should show something."

He took a closer look. "This is a new mattress, I'd bet money on it. We can check this guy's financial records to see if he recently purchased this. He's had at least three days to cover up his trail. I think we may have our primary crime scene."

He began to file through dresser drawers while Sara concentrated on the walk-in closet. They took their time, hoping to locate a possible murder weapon or anything else unusual that might account for the sadistic manner in which the victim had been mutilated.

After searching the walk-in closet for over thirty minutes, Sara called out. "Grissom, I think I found something."

He discovered Sara seated on the floor towards the back of the dimly lit closet. Due to the clutter, he stepped cautiously towards her. Her eyes were fixed upon a formerly concealed compartment in the wall that she'd located, which was now open. His initial curiosity was over come by other emotions, for Sara's face was pale and her eyes were fixed upon her discovery. He crouched down beside her, to glance into the chamber.

Sara's voice trembled slightly. "What are these? Sex toys or torture instruments?"

Although Grissom wasn't into that type of thing himself, normally he'd vehemently defend those whom society discriminated against. He could feel his familiar diatribe about tolerance automatically about to spout from his lips. He loathed the way that society judged people that it didn't understand, and he wasn't about to do it himself. But the pain in her eyes stopped those thoughts cold.

He settled on his knees beside her, almost leaning against her. He put a hand on her shoulder, longing to comfort her.

She continued, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I know people experiment – some people tie each other up or use handcuffs, and there was that lady with the clowns. A little weird, but essentially harmless. But this…" her voice trailed off. She swallowed hard and finished, "This just seems sick."

"I agree," he replied softly, while gently massaging her shoulder.

"What does this have to do with love?" her voice broke.

Once again, typically Grissom would've philosophically replied that for some, there was a thin line between pain and pleasure. His conversations with a seductive dominatrix had confirmed that. He'd appreciated her unique insights into those darker aspects of the human psyche. But that wasn't what Sara needed to hear from him.

Then he remembered something else he gleaned from those discussions.

"It's not about love. For most, it's about power, and control."

"It's sick," she whispered sadly.

Although it was hard, he sensed that he needed to take off his public mask and be as honest as he could with her.

"Yes, it is," he agreed.

He wanted to hold her, to console her; he could sense that she was struggling for control. Yet he also was aware that Sara longed for him to view her as a competent investigator. He didn't want his actions to be perceived as motivated by pity. For several minutes, they sat quietly in the dimly lit cramped space, their thighs nearly brushing against one another, as he clasped her shoulder, his eyes set upon her. Heaven help him, if Detective Larson had the misfortune of gracing them with his annoying presence at that moment, for neither of them was acting very professionally.

After a significant interval had passed, he reluctantly tested the instruments for blood. The results were positive.

Back at the lab, Grissom and Sara discussed the results of their analysis. The blood on the instruments came from two sources, the victim and an unknown male. They obtained a sample of the husband's DNA for comparison purposes. They also positively identified vaginal tissue from the victim on some of the instruments.

Sara surprised him. "Grissom, I want to lead the interview."

He sighed, for he didn't think it was a good idea, and the fact that it mimicked his dream so closely made him very uneasy.

She assumed he was holding back to protect the lab. "I understand why you might have objections. But I can do this. My counselor thinks it would be a good idea. We've been doing some role-playing and she feels I'm better equipped to handle it. It's part of the healing process. "

He felt some relief that she'd taken his advice to pursue more vigorous counseling, yet his stomach was still tied up in knots at the prospect of her directing the session. However Sara had lead dozens of interviews in the past; she'd fully proven herself to be a competent investigator. And the fact that she'd actively sought additional help ought to be sufficient reason for him to continue to support her. He also understood how it important it was for her, so he allowed her to proceed, but only if he was present as well.

When they entered the interrogation room, Grissom noticed that the husband had gotten himself a lawyer. Despite his rising anxiety, he almost chuckled, thinking that this might cramp Detective Larson's heavy-handed style. He and Sara sat across the table from the suspect and his counsel, while Detective Larson lurked in the doorway. He'd been advised to let the crime lab handle this.

Sara began by opening a file and displaying pictures of the contents of the secret closet chamber. The man blushed and laughed uncomfortably, as if he was both embarrassed and shocked that they'd been able to uncover his cache.

"Can you tell us what these are and why your wife's blood and vaginal tissue are on them?"

He swallowed uncomfortably and whispered to his lawyer. After conferring in hushed tones, with a blush spreading over his face, he confessed.

"Um…they're sex toys. Nobody else has to know about this, right?"

She ignored his pathetic plea. She was becoming angry, much to Grissom's displeasure. Her voice became louder. "So we're supposed to believe that your wife liked being in pain?" Before he could utter a response, she removed his wife's facial x-rays from the folder. "Tell me about these. How did your wife sustain these injuries?"

The spouse was clearly uncomfortable. "I…don't know."

Her response was animated. "Sure you don't. You want to know what I think. I think you liked to use your wife as a punching bag. And when that didn't get you off anymore, you got your thrills torturing her with these things."

Grissom's heart was in his throat. At least the suspect wasn't responding in a hostile fashion. Yet.

The man objected, "No, it's not like that. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. But, please, I have a reputation to protect. Cheryl and I are passionate, physical people. Sometimes we'd get into fights and hit each other. She'd hit me too, gave me a few black eyes. It was kind of like foreplay for us, but we always resolved our differences. And as to our sex life, she was the one who introduced me to…alternatives. She liked it."

Was that going to set Sara off? 

"Take off your clothes." Sara requested.

Grissom and Detective Larson directed confused looks toward her.

"If you're both into this type of sexual activity, then perhaps we'll see similar markings on your body."

Grissom smiled, feeling some of his tension release, she was right. Some of the 'toys' left distinctive markings on the victim. Depending how they were used, they could penetrate the skin, leaving angry red welts or simply produce unusual abrasions that would fade over time. The husband stripped and Grissom and Sara examined him. They found fading ligature marks about his ankles, and deep abrasions on his buttocks that were similar to some of those on his wife's body.

After the suspect redressed and conferred with his lawyer, he explained. "Okay, I'm going to be completely honest with you. I didn't mean to kill her. It was an accident. I didn't realize what was going on until it was too late. Am I off the hook? Does anyone have to know about this?"

With a grin, Sara turned to Grissom, indicating that he could field that question.

"You may not be indicted for consensual sex play, if that's what it was. But rather than seeking medical attention for your wife when she was critically injured, you transported then concealed her body, dumping it in the woods. And then you tried to cover up the rest of the evidence. That's going to buy you some time for sure."

Grissom and Sara had returned to examine the victim's house one last time. While there was more than enough physical evidence to support their case, there was still the nagging unresolved question about extent of the victim's willing participation. They'd searched for more secret compartments, scrutinized her wardrobe, and attempted to locate any diary or journal. They even checked her computer. Nothing. This line of questioning shocked their friends and family; so that was a dead end too.

They were able to link the husband to the sex toys via his blood and tissue. But that was the extent of the evidence.

Sara was frustrated. She continued to make excuses to examine different portions of the house. Finally Grissom had to stop her.

"Sara, there isn't anything else."

She objected, "How can you say that? Aren't we supposed to be the voice of the victim? We're just not thinking about it the right way."

He stepped closer to her. "I know, it's upsetting that this crime might be even worse than it appears. But, he's getting jail time. And his reputation has suffered; it's already hit the press. So he's paying for it. We've done all that we can do."

She stubbornly shook her head, reluctant to let it go. They began to assemble their evidence collecting kits.

Detective Larson stepped into the room and called over for Sara. She walked towards him. Since the case was essentially over, he was turning on the charm again. He smiled at her as they spoke near the front door. Although Grissom was wildly curious, Sara's back was to him so he couldn't see her expression. After a minute or so, the detective left the room and Sara returned to Grissom.

"Detective Larson wants to know if I'm busy tomorrow night."

_Damn, she wants to go out with him._

Then he calmed down some, realizing that she wasn't asking his permission to date that man; she was more likely making sure that he didn't need her for work purposes on her night off.

_She wants to date someone else_

His heart felt heavy. Then he realized that she was waiting for an answer. He who hesitates is lost.

"Sara, let's…let's do something."

She wasn't following what he was saying. "Oh, we need to finish up the paper work for the Reynolds's case?"

_It's now or never. You know you want her._

He cleared his throat decisively. "No…I mean…let's go out and do something. You and me." He quickly added, "Unless you'd rather be with Detective Larson?"

She laughed and then grinned sweetly. "What did you have in mind?"

Up to that moment his mind had been blank. But then it came to him. It was perfect.

tbc


	4. A Night at the Opera

**A/N **Thanks for all your comments! I know this story has been coming along slowly due to real life constraints, but I am fully committed to completing it. I've become aware that Sophia is really spelled Sofia, but for this story, I'll be consistent with what I started with. Special thanks to Leslie, Ms. Grits and smryczko for their wonderful insight and suggestions!

**Chapter 4** A Night at the Opera

Sara 

Sara issued a sigh of relief as she easily pulled up the zipper of her burgundy evening gown. Although she'd purchased it back in San Francisco for some long forgotten departmental event, the lines of the dress were classic so it was more than suitable for the current occasion. She was surprised to discover that she'd lost some weight since then, the dress didn't fit as snugly as it once had. Yet as she examined her reflection in the mirror, it was still very flattering.

She wasn't accustomed to the plunging neckline, which exposed some of her cleavage. The top was fashioned like a halter; it fastened behind her neck, while completely exposing her shoulders and a large portion of her back. Wearing a bra was not an option and she felt deliciously decadent. Although the silky fabric hugged her curves, slits cut up to her thighs allowed her to move smoothly.

As she searched her jewelry box for the accessories she'd purchased for the outfit, she smiled. She could remember shopping with her girlfriend Lisa better than she could recall the actual formal event she'd attended. Lisa had insisted that she go all out and purchase the right jewelry and shoes to complement the dress, along with a matching evening bag.

_Consider it an investment,_ she'd urged.

At the time, she'd been annoyed by her friend's persistence. She resented spending money on items that she'd rarely use. They'd even argued about it in one store. Now she was pleased that she'd finally broken down and heeded her friend's advice, for she was confident that she looked stunning in her fully coordinated ensemble.

The rhinestone necklace and matching dangling earrings glistened in the sunlight as she put them on.

_Something that sparkles and captures the eye, _Lisa's voice reminded her.

The sandals, adorned with matching rhinestones, lay on the floor. She'd wait before putting them on; she wasn't as comfortable with heels, they hurt her feet after a while.

Next she moved to the bathroom to apply make up. Sara scrutinized the face that stared back at her from the mirror. Noting the familiar dark smudges beneath her eyes, she tried applying a dab of foundation then blending it in. She hadn't slept well over the last few days, seemingly a fact of life for her. The last case she'd worked on had somehow insinuated itself within her subconscious. She was having trouble letting it go.

Mentally she continued to review each piece of evidence, as she tossed in her bed. But no matter how many times she attempted to re-interpret it, no matter how many questions she asked, her analysis always lead to the same conclusions. William Reynolds had killed his wife. They could prove that beyond a doubt.

Yet the ambiguity of the situation troubled her. Was Cheryl Reynolds's death accidental, taking place during a mutually agreed upon sexual activity? Or had she been the victim of depraved abuse, this event merely marking the culmination of years of torture?

Detective Larson considered the case to be closed after they interviewed the spouse. As far as he was concerned, they had an abundance of evidence along with a confession; the guy was definitely going to serve time, regardless of the finer details of the crime. Their job was done. Grissom, on the other hand, seemed to understand and possibly share her reservations. While Detective Larson was going through the motions at that point, Grissom was still actively investigating. However, eventually, even he felt as if they'd exhausted their options.

Grissom's invitation had taken her off guard. When she commented to him about Detective Larson asking her out, she was being sarcastic. Although she was flattered by the attention from the handsome detective and she hadn't discouraged him, she was rapidly becoming less and less impressed by his police work and his flippant attitude towards the end of the case.

_That's not completely true. Be honest Sara._

She had no intention of dating Detective Larson; she wasn't interested in him. She wasn't proud of the fact that she'd wanted to prod Grissom, to throw it in his face so she could observe his reaction to the fact that another man was clearly interested in her, and remind him that she had other viable, even attractive, options. She wasn't a fool, she'd noticed Grissom frowning and fidgeting uncomfortably as the other man spoke with her over the past few weeks. She'd caught onto the underlying tension between those two. Although she had no desire to hurt him, she enjoyed feeling like she had some power over him for a change.

_Breathe Sara._

Her heart was beating faster. She was rapidly moving from shaky ground to downright dangerous territory. Her hands began to tremble slightly as she arranged her hair in a classic chignon. She was trying very hard to remain calm, to be somewhat casual about the evening ahead of her. Although her pulse rate had skyrocketed when Grissom asked her out, she kept reminding herself that it didn't necessarily mean anything more than that. She needed to keep things in proper perspective.

But, her heart argued, things had been changing between them. Grissom had changed. He was no longer avoiding her; he'd even made an effort to talk with her more over the past weeks. He seemed to be opening up some, actually sharing details of his personal life. She could swear that his eyes searched for her at a scene, and that they lingered upon her, whenever she entered a room.

Normally these would be signs of a man's interest in developing a romantic relationship. However, the rational part of her mind reminded her that this was Grissom. With him, nothing was ever easy or straightforward or anywhere near normal. She couldn't allow herself to get too caught up in the moment, no matter how tempting it was; she might just be setting herself up to get hurt.

Her counselor had advised her that, given his intimacy issues and past behavior, she needed to hold back and let Grissom initiate, to allow him to set the pace for their association, regardless of her own feelings.

_Don't do it. Don't go there. Do not think about those feelings now._

A real date seemed like a significant move, especially one that involved Grissom wearing a tuxedo. She could hardly wait to check him out.

_Take that Sophia._

Stop it! 

It was almost healthier for her to dwell upon the case.

Thankfully, the doorbell rang before she got herself more deeply enmeshed in the quagmire of her thoughts. She gave a fleeting glance towards the mirror. Satisfied with what she saw, she slipped on her sandals and answered the door.

_Wow._

She hoped that she wasn't staring; he looked strikingly handsome in his tuxedo.

"Hi."

Grissom grinned with frank appreciation as he examined her outfit. "You look incredible."

"You're not so bad yourself." She reached for her bag. "So, what are we seeing?"

As they left her apartment and walked towards his Denali, he explained. "I was hoping to get tickets for _Turandot_ since we've both seen it recently on PBS. Being familiar with the music and the plot line tends to enhance the experience. However, it's not in town anymore. So we're going to see a production of _Madama Butterfly_, which I hope you'll enjoy just as much. It's by the same composer, Puccini, but it has a less complex plotline. I read that the Broadway show _Miss Saigon_ was loosely based on it."

"More to do with love?" Sara joked. Most of the operas she was familiar with had fairly dramatic story lines.

"It's practically the foundation for most operas, a primal force. Though most of them have a tendency to end tragically, rather than happily. It's more moving that way. Operas tend to driven by strong emotions, that's what makes the music so passionate and stirring."

Sara listened with interest as they drove. It was odd to hear Grissom using the words stirring and passionate to describe something. She wasn't an opera buff, but she appreciated many different types of music. She didn't limit herself to any particular genre.

In one of their recent conversations, it turned out that Grissom enjoyed opera. He recommended one that was being shown on television so she watched it. She didn't understand a lot of it, since the lyrics were in a foreign language, she could translate much better on paper than by ear; yet parts of it were appealing.

"The productions can be extremely elaborate, with ornate costumes, complicated sets, and lots of extras. It's a completely different experience than just listening to the music or watching it on TV. I hope you'll like it," he explained.

"So how did you get into opera? Did your parents like it?" She was curious, for she couldn't imagine her mother or father listening to it. It was definitely not their style; they'd never patronized the traditional arts, being counter culture rebels. She'd always envisioned Grissom as coming from a very cultured background, one quite unlike her own.

He paused before responding, seemingly considering something. "No, my dad left us before I turned five and my mother is deaf."

What? 

Grissom had never publicly acknowledged his _own_ hearing problem, nor had he ever confided in her about it. She'd noticed that he was struggling for a while, they all had. His music was turned up a little too loud, he'd frequently ask people to repeat themselves while intently watching their lips, or he wouldn't respond at all to comments made while his back was turned. Then it suddenly wasn't an issue anymore.

Now some of the pieces were coming together for her. Perhaps that accounted for why he knew sign language and why he seemed so comfortable with the administrator of the deaf school. And maybe since his mother was deaf, he'd felt as if his own situation was inevitable too. How ironic that Grissom had issues with his father as well.

While she was secretly thrilled by that admission, it also made her nervous. In her mind, she frantically searched for another topic of conversation, because she had no desire to talk about her own family. Just thinking about them made her uneasy. Lacking any other innovative ideas, she fell back on the familiar. Considering how long they'd been working together and how the case had haunted her, it was almost impossible not to.

"So you asked Brass about any other abuse reports from non-traditional sources?" Sara changed the subject.

"Yes Sara. If anything had come up, I would've told you," he assured her.

Her frustration, which was lying just below the surface, began to well up again. "I just don't get it. How can they cover up their lives so completely? Either way, either scenario, you'd think there would be some evidence to support one of them."

"People with secrets know how to hide them."

The enigmatic way he said that, made her wonder if he was hiding any secrets of his own. Or more likely, he was just being Grissom.

She continued, "We found videotape evidence that she entered those sex stores alone to purchase items, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it was her idea. She didn't look very comfortable. Her husband could've been waiting in the car, trying to protect his precious reputation. Maybe she was coerced. Did she really have a choice? But why wouldn't she tell anybody?"

Grissom replied more firmly, "Sara, it's private. She wouldn't want people to know about her sex life even if it was supposedly normal; it's no one else's business. Or in the other case, she might feel ashamed or trapped or afraid to tell anyone that she was being abused. I know this is upsetting to you but we've done all we can do."

She frowned.

"Um…since this is a date, can we…maybe…talk about non-work related topics?" he tentatively suggested.

Her face became flushed; she couldn't believe that he was the one to say that.

"Okay."

They managed to make casual small talk for the rest of the drive.

After they arrived at the theater and then located a place to park in the garage, they walked towards an elevator. Sara was amazed to discover how dressed up people were for the event. Of course, Vegas formal was always a little splashier, a little more garish, than the rest of the nation, with the possible exception of Hollywood, with more smatterings of sequins, feathers, rhinestones and exotic colors. As he pressed the button for the elevator, Grissom asked, with some hesitation, "Sara, since this is date, do you mind if we get something out of the way first?"

The elevator door slid open.

"Sure." She had no idea what he was talking about.

As they stepped into the elevator, rather than moving back as was customary to allow more people in, Grissom swiftly punched the close button on the door, shutting it before anyone in the garage could join them. Fortunately, no one else had been waiting with them, yet they could've held the door open for another couple that was walking towards them. Before Sara could comment about his unexpected rudeness, he pulled her close to him and covered her mouth with his, kissing her firmly.

The kiss was not tentative, nor was it invasive. She didn't have the feeling that he was trying to mark his territory, more likely he was making a statement that perhaps he finally knew what he wanted. Her heart pounded in her chest as she enthusiastically kissed him back, her tongue eagerly stroking his as her arms wrapped around his neck. As the initial shock wore off, her knees were practically buckling, she almost giggled. He was nervous too; she could taste the remnants of Scotch lingering on his breath. All too soon, the elevator doors opened and they broke apart.

He put his arm around her shoulder to steady her, and she gratefully accepted the support. She was feeling a bit lightheaded. Then he guided her to their seats.

As she smoothed her dress beneath her, to sit down, she turned to ask Grissom, "So what's this opera about?" She knew there were detailed notes in the program; she just wanted to hear it from him.

"In a nutshell, an American service man, Pinkerton, marries a young Japanese girl, Madame Butterfly, and sets her up in a house. But soon he returns to America and leaves her. Butterfly has his son, and she waits for his return. Three years later, he comes back with his American wife, only to take his son away from her. Butterfly is heartbroken and she kills herself."

"Sounds uplifting," she half-joked.

"There's some beautiful music in this opera. It's considered to be one of Puccini's most moving works," Grissom explained.

When the production started, Sara realized what a great idea this had been. The formal attire and atmosphere, along with his kiss, had clearly shown her that he meant business. Yet, being able to focus on the show would allow them to get used to being with each other under different circumstances, without the immediate necessity of hours of forced small talk. At their late supper, they could talk about the opera; that would ease the transition for them into more non-work related topics.

The house lights dimmed and the production commenced. Grissom's palm cautiously rested upon her thigh, and she allowed it to stay there, somewhat excited by the sensations coursing through her body.

_I want him._

But she was getting way too far ahead of herself. Their relationship was only just beginning, and it was complicated. They both had significant baggage, their own issues that needed to be dealt with. She didn't know what Grissom wanted from a relationship, only that the tide seemed to changing her way.

_Be careful. Let him make the first moves._

"What language is this?" she leaned against him to whisper into his ear. She fought her urge to stroke his bearded cheek. She almost laughed at herself, for making lame excuses to be closer to him, for she knew the answer to her question.

"Italian, it's the best for opera," his voice rumbled back.

Between the synopsis in the program, and the actions on stage, Sara was able to figure out what was happening in the story. Yet, Grissom continued to periodically murmur in her ear, telling her minor plot points or translating lyrics that he thought were especially beautiful or meaningful. She didn't mind. She enjoyed the rustle of his words in her ear, and even the prickle of his beard against her neck. It sent shivers up her spine.

All she'd have to do was turn her neck slightly, if she wanted to kiss him.

Where did that come from? 

Public displays of affection certainly weren't her style. Like Grissom, she also greatly appreciated privacy. In fact, that was another reason why his kiss in the elevator had taken her off guard. She needed to be extremely cautious, since her body and her mind weren't in agreement about the agenda for the evening.

During the first act, Grissom leaned over to explain to her. "Here Pinkerton unknowingly realizes that he's going to destroy Butterfly in the end. Listen, this part translates:

_Suddenly light as a feather she flutters,_

_And like a butterfly, hovers and settles,_

_With so much charm, such seductive graces,_

_That to run after her a wild wish seized me_

_Tho' in the quest her frail wings should be broken."_

Sara found herself not liking the American soldier very much.

At the end of Act I, they wandered into the lobby for intermission. Grissom brought her a glass of white wine, which she sipped as they spoke.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I like it. You were right; the music is fantastic. I just find it a little disturbing that this sweet girl's hopes and dreams are going to be crushed. It's almost like she represents innocence which is eventually destroyed."

"I wouldn't say that Sara, lost is a better word. It essentially happens to us all at some point in our lives," he replied philosophically.

She disagreed, "I don't know about that. Where do you go after you commit suicide? She's the ideal victim, the destitute young girl exploited by the older more experienced man. Look at the image of the butterfly itself that he alludes to – beautiful, fragile and vulnerable, with a very short life span."

"That's true. But time isn't necessarily a reflection of quality," he pointed out.

"And is he saying that the idea of true love is completely naïve? That it's such a fantasy that only a fifteen year old girl like Butterfly could possibly believe in it?" This theme was a little close to home for her, yet she was enjoying their discussion.

"I don't think so," he grinned, seemingly pleased by her observations. "Remember Sara, the main point behind any tragedy is the cathartic experience. It takes you away from your own troubles when you carry the weight of some one else's problems for a while. The greater the tragedy, the greater the release."

"Kind of like roller coasters?" she grinned mischievously, her brown eyes sparkling. She'd forgotten about this aspect of Grissom. It'd been a long time since they'd delved into a non-case related discussion in such depth.

"You could say that."

She was thrilled by the fact that he was entirely focused upon her that evening.

The lights in the lobby began to flicker, indicating that intermission was over. Grissom placed his arm around the small of her back, to escort her back to their seats.

The second act was just as entertaining as the first. Grissom continued to whisper comments in her ear. And they were holding hands, their fingers intertwined. Still, Sara found her mind wandering, wondering if he would come up to her apartment after dinner tonight. She wanted him to. She was a little embarrassed that she was thinking this way; she wanted their relationship to be so much more than physical. But that was an important aspect of a relationship too. And this wasn't an ordinary first date, not in the least. This was a man whom she'd known and cared about for years. She forced herself to concentrate on the music and simply bask in the attention that he was lavishing on her.

Just as the climatic third act began, she felt her cell phone vibrating in her evening bag.

No.   
It's not fair! 

Apparently Grissom's had vibrated too. They exited as quietly as they could to answer their phones in the lobby. Dispatch calmly informed her that they had a quadruple homicide and that they needed all hands on deck. Her throat choked up, she wanted to rail that it wasn't fair. Of all the nights, why now? Why? But, it was the nature of the job. She dutifully noted the address.

After turning off her phone, she examined Grissom, who was still speaking on his.

"Can't you call Catherine?" He was annoyed.

Was he trying to get out of reporting at the scene? From the tidbits of his conversation she was over hearing, it sure sounded like he was.

"What about the dayshift supervisor?"

He was disappointed too. That restored some of her faith that he'd been enjoying the evening as much as she had. He abruptly shut his phone.

"It's okay," she assured him

"No, it's not," he replied bitterly.

"It's part of who we are." She wanted to thank him properly, to kiss him again, to officially end their date, but apparently the phone call had already done it for Grissom. His impassive mask rapidly replaced his anger. He was already slipping into work mode; his invisible barriers had shifted into place.

His withdrawal was so abrupt that she wondered if she'd done something wrong. She was fighting the impulse to ask him to continue their date another time. She didn't want it to be over.

_Let him make the moves._

They walked to the elevator, though no longer as a couple. Grissom had physically and emotionally retreated. She found herself blinking back tears. It was over.

She had no hopes that he'd kiss her again in the elevator; he no longer seemed interested. Her supervisor had switched places with her attentive date. Yet, as they took the elevator to their floor in the parking garage, he asked.

"Could we try this again sometime?"

She smiled with relief, "I'd like that."

He removed his suit jacket to place it around her shoulders. "Here, take this. You'll be cold."

"No, I'm okay."

More firmly, he insisted, "Please. Take it." So she complied, putting her arms through the sleeves.

As they drove towards the crime scene, she began to mentally prepare herself to switch gears, so she could concentrate on her job. Perhaps that's what Grissom had already done.

Then it occurred to her that Grissom might have ulterior motives in offering her his jacket. Her co-workers couldn't help but notice how she was dressed. She could already hear Greg's comments. The jacket would partially obscure the view for him and other curious male staff members. But more importantly, it would indicate that she hadn't been alone.

TBC


	5. Denial Part 1

A/N Great to hear from all of you! Thanks for your kind comments. I'm glad you're enjoying this story. Since this is taking much longer to write than I originally intended, I will be using the correct spelling of Sofia's name from now on to avoid this being a distraction, and eventually I'll get around to correcting the spelling in the beginning chapters. Although this chapter is told from Sofia's POV, and it involves a case file, with Grissom and Sara showing up at the scene in full formal dress, it most definitely has GSR! This is a long chapter so I had to break it into two parts to get it to post, so look for the rest in Chapter 6 Denial Part 2. Special thanks to Ms. Grits and smryczko for their greatly appreciated constructive comments. Enjoy!   
Chapter 5 Denial (Part 1) Sofia 

Sofia was somewhat ashamed and surprised by her gut reaction to part of the crime scene that greeted her. She was a seasoned veteran, one who should've been promoted to supervisor by now, she ruefully reminded herself, feeling the familiar tide of resentment welling up within her again. Yet, this sight was unsettling, and not simply due to the stench of blood. That was part of the job, besides she'd dealt with worse odors before.

Children had been involved. She could barely glance at their poor lifeless bodies, half obscured by their bedding. One victim was so young that he had a cartoon character bedspread with matching sheets. While she never thought of herself as possessing any maternal instincts, she found herself hoping that death had been quick and relatively painless for them, that whatever hell had broken lose earlier that evening in their home hadn't had the chance to register in their innocent minds, that their souls were untainted by the brutal violence which had surrounded them in their final moments.

The original report had been in error, instead of four victims, there were five, three male and two female. Both children were lying in their beds, as if they were merely sleeping; there were no defensive wounds, no signs of a struggle or even marks on their bodies.

On the other hand, the adults had incurred multiple wounds. There were signs of a massive struggle in the master bedroom and in the hallway as well. One of the bodies lay sprawled out unnaturally in the middle of the living room. He had fallen, or been pushed, over the edge of the second floor hallway railing, most likely breaking his neck upon impact and dying instantly. Some furniture had been overturned, lamps were broken into pieces; blood cast off covered the walls. Even one of the master bedroom sliding glass doors had been shattered. At this point, they were uncertain as to which person was the homeowner.

She and Greg were scanning the scene as David started processing the bodies; they were trying to get an overall feel for what might have happened that night. A burglary gone awry could apply, but why kill the children too? Especially since it didn't appear as if they'd stumbled in at an inopportune moment. Unless they were transferred to their beds after they'd been killed. And what had actually caused their deaths?

Even though it was a respectable upper middle class neighborhood, it could have been a drug deal gone awry. Sofia had learned early in her career not to take anything for granted in this business. Just because people lived in fancy homes, it didn't mean anything. Drugs knew no class barriers. And no amount of money would ever abolish good old lust and greed. Only the evidence would answer their questions without bias.

Sofia was anxious to start processing the scene, so she began taking preliminary notes. Yet she respectfully waited for her supervisor before officially starting the show. Of course, he would handle the situation differently than she would. She would prefer to have given even more detailed instruction to her team and examine each piece of evidence personally; she liked more hands on control of her team when she supervised.

Not that Grissom did a bad job, far from it. She had immense respect for the man. But she had her own style, which had been starting to emerge as Ecklie continued to give her brief glimpses at the golden carrot of the daytime supervisor position. Grissom was much more comfortable giving his criminalists plenty of room to run with, he encouraged them to act independently.

She'd heard stories about Grissom over the years. Rumor had it that he was eccentric and that he could be challenging to work with. Members of the day shift had chuckled when they'd heard about some of his bizarre experiments such as his fly infested pig in a blanket, his electrocuted pickle, or poor Greg's foot fungus that he'd complained so hysterically about. She'd heard that Grissom actually challenged the authority of the FBI and the sheriff on separate occasions. He'd even questioned the day shift team's efficiency when he reopened one of their arson investigations.

However, her main source of information had been Ecklie, so she was acutely aware of possible partiality. She wasn't a fool when it came to her ex-supervisor; she was well acquainted with his shortcomings. Yet, she put up with them, covering for him multiple times, rescuing him from looking like an ass on many occasions, quietly gritting her teeth and biding her time, because that was the best way to advance her career, only to have him give the prize position of supervisor to someone else. She could feel her pulse throbbing faster.

Even so, she'd been prepared to dislike Grissom, still subtly biased by Ecklie's influence. Yet, as she investigated his team, she found no impropriety, no indiscretions. Grissom ran a well-oiled machine and his team was sharp. They worked together in a manner that day shift had never been able to achieve. There was a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect; no one played inane games to make himself look better than his co-workers.

Despite Ecklie's unrelenting pressure during the course of her investigation of Grissom, she couldn't lie; she couldn't allow herself to compromise that much, even if it might jeopardize her career advancement, which meant everything to her. Especially since Ecklie hadn't proven himself to be completely trustworthy. Grissom hadn't done anything wrong. And now, as a result of her actions, after doing the _right_ thing, she was essentially demoted.

Then there was Grissom himself…well…perhaps there was a silver lining after all, he impressed her. He was amazingly intelligent and handsome, with those intense blue eyes. His appearance in a tuxedo that evening several months ago in the Olympia hotel had floored her. She liked him, she even found herself attracted to him, despite their age difference.

He liked her too. She could sense it from the huskier tone his voice sometimes took when he spoke with her, the way that his eyes contacted hers, and by the fact that they'd already gone out to dinner together. She was completely confident that he'd thoroughly enjoyed her company that evening, even though he hadn't made any moves to approach her physically. That would come soon enough.

While he hadn't asked her out again, she assumed that he was playing the game; they both knew the rules. It was a subtle dance, you don't show too much interest or you lose face, especially since they worked together. The chase was part of the time-honored ritual.

Yet she wasn't foolish enough to believe that she would ever be able to reach beneath that smooth exterior façade of his. Grissom had secrets, ones that were deeply entrenched, that he didn't intend to share with anyone. And that was okay. She wasn't a little girl who believed in Prince Charming and 'happily ever after'. With her history, she had no illusions about relationships. Especially after her disastrous affair with Jason, she'd been young and far too naïve about men back then. She learned that you enjoyed relationships while they lasted and then you moved on. Theirs would be a brief but exhilarating affair, she was anxious to move forward with it.

Detective Larson stuck his head through the open front door. "Grissom just arrived."

The relatively new detective was an intriguing fellow as well, with his seductive dark Latin looks along with his enchanting smile. There was a man who knew his way around the ladies. However, Sara had captivated his attention, which suited her purposes just fine.

Sofia and Greg hurried out to the front lawn to discuss their game plan with their team. They had a lot of work ahead of them, and the sheriff would soon be demanding answers for the press.

Grissom stepped out of his Denali, wearing a tuxedo shirt and pants. Sofia smiled appreciatively, taking in his pleasing appearance, yet she wondered why he was dressed up, she wasn't aware of any departmental function that evening. But the others didn't notice him. Their eyes were fixed upon the glamorous brunette that got out of the passenger side of his vehicle.

At first, she didn't recognize her. She'd never seen her in an evening dress before. Neither had the other men, based on their comments. Her hair was up, arranged attractively, and she wore sparkling dangling earrings which glistened in the streetlights. Her stomach rumbled uncomfortably as she saw Sara Sidle, looking as gorgeous as any runway model, approaching the crime scene, with, could that be _his_ tuxedo jacket wrapped about her shoulders? It was definitely a man's jacket, no doubt about that, which also effectively blocked the other men's view of her cleavage. She felt as if a heavy weight had just crushed her chest.

The men, those idiots who claimed to be professionals, even the so-called well-educated ones, practically had their tongues hanging out of their mouths as they stared at her. Even the patrolmen had paused to gawk. At least she could take pleasure from the obvious discomfort this undue attention caused Sara, whose deep blush was creeping down her neck.

"Wow Sara, you look hot tonight," Greg stammered.

_Oh brother, couldn't you think of a better line than that, Greggo._

Sara stared at the ground, attempting to avoid their prying glances, while pulling the jacket tighter around her body, trying to conceal herself within its folds. Instinctively, she stood closer to Grissom.

David and Detective Larson were also frozen in their tracks, mesmerized by her appearance.

"I thought you were home watching movies tonight," Detective Larson weakly reminded, the glib lothario suddenly at a loss for words.

Before she could reply, Grissom abruptly interrupted and got down to business, while trying to ignore the chaos around him. "Okay, for five bodies we need two in the house and two outside." He took a minute to consider, "Sofia, you take inside, along with…"

It was a lengthy hesitation for him; usually he made up his mind quickly. Why was this such a difficult decision tonight? She'd hoped he'd partner himself with her, for that would be an added bonus, to admire him in his evening finery. But it wasn't meant to be.

"Sara," he chose deliberately. "Greg will take the outside and I'll coordinate and process the bodies with Doc Robbins."

Oh great, her least favorite person to work with, at a complicated crime scene to boot. It was going to be a long night. But Sofia was a dedicated professional who would do her job well, regardless of trying circumstances. And Sara was a hard worker too.

Not that she'd ever consider the woman to be a friend, far from that. Sara had given her glances cold enough to lower the room temperature several degrees. Up until that moment, she hadn't fully understood, or cared, why the woman had given her such a frigid reception.

Greg and Detective Larson jumped at the chance to assist Sara.

"I've got some coveralls in my SUV, I'll get them for you, Sara. You don't want to mess that beautiful gown up with blood stains," Greg eagerly volunteered as he set forth to retrieve them.

"Thanks Greg." Then Sara sighed and wondered, "Where can I change?" She craned her neck, examining the area

Trying to be helpful, Sofia promptly suggested, "I know a trick –"

"No, Sara isn't going to look like some Vegas stripper," Grissom interjected, almost rudely. Turning to Sara, he said, more softly, "Let's see if you can change in the ambulance."

"I can hold up a blanket for a screen," Detective Larson had recovered his wits enough to smoothly step closer to her, about to grasp her forearm.

Sara deliberately eluded his hand, stepping away from the detective, while Grissom simply looked him directly in the eyes and firmly replied, "No. I don't think so." Then he put his hand in the small of her back and escorted her to the ambulance.

Were her ears deceiving her? He sounded defensive; was there a trace of possessiveness in his voice? What was going on here?

XXXXXXXXXXX

Time went by as the women painstakingly collected evidence from each of the rooms involved in the horrendous killing spree. They started with the master bedroom, where there was the most chaos. They snapped photo after photo, documenting the broken objects and blood spatter patterns. A baseball bat, with remnants of blood and hair clinging to, was most likely one of the murder weapons, along with the jagged stem of a champagne bottle. They also discovered a bloody lamp base.

As was her custom, Sofia verbally noted her findings out loud, though she didn't want to discuss them with anyone yet. She realized that this technique was starting to irritate Sara, so she grinned slightly as she continued to do it.

"What a wardrobe, expensive shoes and accessories in every color," she commented as she peeked into the closet. "A packed suitcase is handy by the closet, her clothes only. Perhaps they were going somewhere or had just returned from a trip," Sofia observed.

Annoyed by her droning, Sara volunteered to process the children's rooms, which suited her fine. Looking at those young victims had bothered Sofia more than she was willing to admit.

The children, a boy and a girl, were found in their bedrooms, hidden beneath their covers, clad in T-shirts and sweat pants. Their presumed mother had been strewn like a limp rag doll across her king sized bed; her filmy lingerie shredded as she fought for her life. A man's body was found in the upper hallway, just outside of the master suite, while the other gentleman was sprawled out on the living room floor. Neither wore pajamas; the man in the hallway was dressed in business attire, sporting a blue suit with a light yellow shirt and a print tie, while the other man wore only a pair of faded Levis.

Greg and Detective Larson were investigating the vehicle located in the driveway and searching the neighborhood to attempt to determine if the other man came in a separate vehicle. They also wanted to rule out the possibility that the killings may have been done by an outside person, who had fled the scene.

As she methodically processed the scene, the image of Grissom with his arm practically around Sara, subtly nudged her.

_He was just being polite. You're exaggerating. There's nothing there._

Sofia had never been one to go after another woman's property; it had never been worth the hassle. Besides, she was pretty and confident in her own abilities and charm. Although some men were intimidated by her intelligence, she'd never had trouble finding attractive men to date.

Of course, she'd heard the rumors about Grissom and Sara; the entire department was familiar with the gentle flutter of that breeze. Some of them even mentioned a betting pool about when the two of them might get together. However, that was old news.

She'd worked side by side with Grissom and Sara for several months now. As far as she was concerned, if there had ever been a brief spark between them, it had been one sided at best, and it had never been given enough nurturing to survive. Those embers had been quenched a long time ago.

But, why had they been together earlier that evening, dressed in formal wear? 

Sofia stepped out of the master bedroom, into the hallway, to stretch her aching legs. She heard the ring of a phone, which wasn't her own.

"Sidle," she heard Sara crisply answered from the adjoining room. Being so close, and curious, she couldn't help but peek into the room and listen to Sara's end of the conversation.

"I don't see any indication of a struggle in the boy's room, though I suppose if he was smothered with his pillow, the killer could've just slipped it back under his head. Any trace fibers?"

What a minute, that had to be Grissom. Why was he contacting Sara instead of her? She was the more senior investigator in terms of job classification and in actual years of experience. She'd actually been considered as a prime candidate for the position of daytime supervisor, while even Gil Grissom himself hadn't recommended Sara for the now extinct key position, a tantalizing fact that few people were aware of. Sometimes it paid to be on Conrad's good side.

Sara frowned, "That's odd. That doesn't agree with the TOD for the adults."

After a moment she added, "Are there any signs of abuse?"

She listened then responded, "Yeah, I know, just trying to cover all the bases."

After listening for a minute or two, she asked, "Wait a minute, which man was the husband?"

Her eyes widened with surprise, "Hmm, now that's interesting."

About to close her phone, she said, "Ok, keep me posted."

Another pause, and her voice became softer, "Yeah?"

"Thanks," she smiled, the edges of her mouth curving upward. Then she closed her phone.

"Anything useful?" Sofia stepped closer to ask.

"You remember that the time of death for the adults was estimated to be about 40 minutes before we arrived at the scene?" Sara asked.

She digested the information. "Yeah, it makes sense, the neighbors heard the glass balcony door shattering and then some screaming, it must have been one heck of a brawl. Then they called the cops. Even though the officers made good time, it was all over by the time they arrived."

Sara relayed, "From their liver temperatures, David estimated that the kids had been dead for over five hours."

That got Sofia's attention. "No wonder he took so long to sign off on those bodies. I've been having trouble figuring out how the kids fit into this scenario. This just makes it even more puzzling." She thought, "Could the TOD have been influenced by the fact that their bodies were covered with all those blankets?"

Sara was quick to point out, "Blankets would trap the body heat, so the temperature would be artifactually higher rather than lower. Though if the bodies had been in a freezer or cold water, that could play a role."

Sofia considered the observations. "But that still doesn't make any sense, that would mean they were killed--"

"At six o'clock at night. I know they're young but what school age kid goes to bed that early? I'm thinking that we may be looking at two separate events here – the kids and the adults."

While Sofia was inclined to agree, she had to needle her. Sara's intimate tone toward the end of that phone conversation had rankled her more than she was willing to admit. "Why? On what basis are you drawing that conclusion?"

"Look at that master bedroom, it has every sign of a crime of passion to me. Those people beat each other to death with anything they could lay their hands on. It had to be personal. Why would any robber go to such lengths? A hired killer would've brought a gun or knife so he wouldn't have to improvise with a baseball bat or chair."

Sofia tried to interrupt, but Sara continued her train of thought.

"On the other hand, look at the children's bedrooms. They're in almost perfect order. The children have no marks on them. And while it doesn't appear to make sense, the evidence is suggesting that they died several hours before the adults."

"So what's your theory?" the blonde grinned wryly. "Maybe the visitor had a beef with the husband so he barged in and then things got crazy fast?"

"No, that doesn't work. I just found out that the husband is the man who was wearing the business clothes."

Sofia was amused. "Ah, the classic wife gets it on the side and the husband walks in on them. That works for me."

Somewhat defensively, Sara blurted out, "Why do you say that? Some people have strong marriages. Maybe he's her brother or a friend?"

That struck a nerve. Normally Sara was too smart to say such a thing, her professional mask was slipping. She was vulnerable for she was talking about far more than the case at hand.

Sofia grinned, eager to pop the other woman's unrealistic bubble. "Yeah, I always wear sexy lingerie with my brother and we drink champagne together in my bedroom. Do you know why we usually assume the worst in these situations? Because nine times out of ten, it's true. We've seen it too many times. Don't tell me you can hold to any ideals after being in this line of work so long."

Sara was clearly irritated, but she didn't want to have that discussion. So she quickly pointed out in her defense, "We don't know when he was in the bedroom. He might've jumped in to protect her."

Since Sara wasn't rising to the bait, Sofia got back to business. "We'll find out soon enough, the samples we sent to the lab will verify it. Did you get any new information about the kids?"

"Grissom says the cause of death is asphyxia. There was no water in their lungs, so it's possible they were smothered with their pillows. They're looking for trace fibers at the lab."

Sofia digested the information. "I still can't tie it all together. Let's finish collecting the evidence. Maybe the lab will give us more to go on with the kids."

Sara slipped away to finish processing the children's rooms while Sofia moved to work on the upper hallway.

_How naïve. She still believes in true love. She's going to be disappointed. He's not interested in her. Not in that way. He's not the type of man to ever share that much of himself. He'll never do it._

**Continued in Ch 6 Denial part 2**


	6. Denial Part 2

A/N This is a continuation of Denial, Chapter 5 Part 1.   
Chapter 6 Denial (Part 2) Sofia 

Sofia smirked with pleasure as the lab confirmed her theory, she savored being right. Greg located Gary Shuman's car that was parked discretely around the corner from the Raines' house. Through a search of his credit card records, they'd found several hotel reservations in the past month. At least one of the desk clerks was able to positively identify Shannon Raines as his companion. But most damning of all, Gary Shuman's sperm had been found in Shannon's vagina. An internal exam revealed no signs of force; it was consensual sex. Tests on sperm viability estimated that intercourse had taken place that evening.

The women had been able to partially reconstruct a viable scenario for the confrontation between the two men and Shannon, based on the evidence. They believed that Trevor had arrived home, unexpectedly early from his business trip, surprising his wife and her lover in the bedroom. A nasty fight ensued, resulting in their deaths. Blood and hair evidence on their makeshift weapons and the walls revealed that Trevor had picked up the bat while Gary was left to improvise with his fists, lamps and other small items of furniture.

However, they still weren't able to explain to their satisfaction why the wife had sustained fatal injuries, especially since the fight was presumably between the two men. Shards of glass had been found in embedded in Shannon's temple, yet no glass from the champagne bottle was found on either man. Only Gary's fingerprints remained on the neck of the shattered bottle, possibly since they shared a drink earlier in the evening.

While they were making some progress with the adults, the women were still stymied by the children's deaths. All of the team members were working well into a double shift, yet they felt the answer must be close at hand. They wanted to finish the case while the evidence was fresh.

The women re-examined the children's rooms.

Sofia paused to think. "We didn't find any of Gary's prints in these rooms. But why would he want to kill her kids anyway?"

"Good point. As far as we know, he's got no motive. Nothing unusual with the pillows." Sara recited as she mentally reviewed the facts. "What are we missing here?"

"Why did you ask about abuse earlier?" Sofia wondered.

The brunette shrugged, "I don't know. Just a feeling. Have you noticed there aren't any pictures of the kids around the house? Lots of families have photos of their children by the mantle or in the hallway or on top of their dressers."

Sofia snapped back a little too sharply, "True, but that doesn't mean they didn't care about their kids. Some people are really into decorating and feel that family photos and kid drawings don't qualify as art." Her parents had certainly felt that way.

"These kids aren't that old. Where are their toys? Their games, their movies?"

"Certainly not in the living room." Of course, the corpse lying in the middle of the grand room had spoiled its eloquent ambiance. Sofia turned to the closet to peek inside. "Maybe they're just neat freaks or they have a perfectionist maid. And just because we're not seeing a lot of toys or games, it doesn't necessarily reflect how much the parents cared about their children."

Who was getting defensive now?

But she knew all too well that kids could be showered with material goods and not truly be loved. She certainly had never been number one in her parent's lives. Their high-powered careers had stranded her with babysitter after babysitter. When she got her period, her best friend's mom was there to talk her through things, for her mother was perpetually away on business.

As she grew older, she became aware of her parents' games. How they cheated on one another and pretended not to notice each other's glaring indiscretions. Rather than trying to hide it from her when she finally became of an age to notice, they expected her to play along with their little games, to ignore anything that was too ugly, hoping it would go away. She'd seen all the little lies leading to bigger lies.

_Sure honey, I'll make it to your game. This time._

_Of course I won't miss your graduation. I know what an important day this is for you._

As always, they'd sent money, which was appreciated. But it wasn't the same. If that's what marriage and family meant, she vowed that she wanted no part of it. She was honest in her intentions as she looked after her own interests and ambitions. Certainly no one else ever had. Besides, she was her parent's daughter; she loved her career. She didn't want to unjustly penalize a loved one or have to make any sacrifices that might be required for a husband or child. Overall she was pleased with her choices.

"What did you say?" Sara was getting excited.

"Maybe they're neat freaks?" Sofia's brow became creased, as she wondered if Sara needed to take a break.

"No, not that. The last part."

"Um…it doesn't necessarily reflect how much the parents cared about their children?" She didn't see the connection here but Sara flipped her phone open.

"Grissom, what are the children's last names?"

She listened intently, "Can you determine who their biological parents are?"

"What?"

With some excitement she said, "We're on it."

Then the tone of her voice subtly changed. "When we finish up here, that'd be nice."

_Oh no, not this again. _

Sara closed her phone.

"So…" Sofia prompted, feeling out of the loop.

"The parents are Shannon and Trent Raines. The kids are Claudia and Timothy Bennett."

Her face lit up with understanding. "And we know what a bargaining chip the kids are in any divorce settlement. Grissom and Greg are checking up on it?"

"As we speak."

Light was bouncing off those obnoxious earrings, right in her eyes. For a brief instant, she felt as if those foolish inanimate objects were mocking her, taunting her.

_Snap out of it, Sofia._

Why in the hell was she still wearing those foolish things? They couldn't possibly be comfortable. She was even wearing those ridiculous high heel sandals, covered by cloth booties. Perhaps she'd just forgotten, as she became engaged in her work. Sofia could relate to that.

_Or maybe she's clinging to the last reminders of her date with Grissom._

Enough 

Sara was giving her an odd look as she revealed. "Tox results indicate the kids were poisoned by a common active ingredient in sleeping pills."

Now this she could sink her teeth into. "You take the hallway bathroom, I'll check out the Master bath"

As Sofia searched the medicine cabinet, she began to review her memory. Maybe things had been changing between she and Grissom. He didn't seem as eager to chat as he once did. They hadn't worked together as often. He didn't linger when they spoke. In fact, the last time she popped by to visit his office, he seemed almost annoyed and practically asked her to leave. At the time, she'd assumed he was tired. But maybe there was more to it.

_Could it be?_

_No, it's not possible. _

_I'm just tired._

Besides, if Grissom were truly interested in Sara, why would he stick her at this bloody crime scene only minutes after cutting their date short? Wouldn't it have been more convenient for the two of them to work in the lab together as she and Greg slogged through the mountains of evidence?

She started to feel vindicated then the truth hit her. She remembered Grissom's expression as he saw the other men's reaction to Sara's outfit. He was not pleased.

Thankfully, she didn't have time to process that observation any further. She'd just found the mother's prescription for Ativan. But who had used it to murder the children? And why?

XXXXX

There were only five hours before the next night shift started, yet Sofia took her time as she prepared to go home, for it was her night off. They'd solved the challenging case in record time, less than twenty-four hours. The sheriff and Ecklie were both raving about their team's work. Finally they'd put together all of the missing pieces.

Sara was perched on the bench in the locker room, still clad in her coveralls, and wearing those ridiculous earrings. She was massaging her feet, which must have had some nice blisters by now. Her shoulders were hunched, and traces of shadows rimmed her eyes, she looked exhausted. She glanced towards the door as Sofia entered.

Feeling charitable, Sofia tried to chat with her. "Can you believe that?"

Sara just shook her head wearily as she continued to rub her feet. "I thought I'd seen everything. What kind of mother kills her children?"

"Guess she thought Gary was her dream guy, the one who would finally sweep her off her feet and take her away from all her troubles. Funny, her life didn't look all that bad to me."

Shannon's suitcase had been packed, stuffed with designer clothing, wads of cash and all of her expensive jewelry for she planned to leave town with Gary that night, and never to return. She'd made several large cash withdrawals from her joint savings account within the last week. Apparently Gary felt differently, since more in-depth analysis of the orientation of the fingerprints on the stem of the champagne bottle indicated that he was the one who delivered the fatal blow to her temple. Perhaps she'd told him what she had done for him?

Sara continued, "I don't get it. If she wanted to skip town, why didn't she just leave them? Wouldn't Trevor have taken care of them?" Her gaze fixed towards the door again.

"That wasn't part of their agreement. He tolerated the children but they were hers from a previous marriage. Their biological father is in jail and unable to take care of them. Maybe she was afraid that Trevor would've used his extensive resources to track her down and pester her to take them back and that would mess up her new life with Gary, who didn't like kids."

"Looks like Gary got in over his head." Sara pointed out.

Gary's reputation as a ladies' man was well known. He wasn't even fully devoted to Shannon, the hotel clerks Greg and Detective Larson had interviewed described other women who had recently accompanied him to his hotel room. With his success in business and his athletic build, it was only natural that women found him attractive. But he wasn't in it for the long haul, he just wanted to have fun.

Sara suggested, "Maybe her plan was only to get the kids to sleep so they wouldn't interrupt her time with Gary or discover her plan until they'd gone? An accidental overdose?"

"Who knows." Sofia noticed Sara furtively glancing at her watch then at the door again. "You better get some rest, your shift is coming up soon."

Sara sadly looked towards the doorway of the locker room one last time, then decisively put on her shoes. She sighed, "Yeah." Then she left.

_So much for that rendezvous._

Sofia was secretly glad that the other woman seemed down. She sat down on the bench to gather her things. A minute or two later, Grissom rushed in, still clad in his formal wear. Breathing slightly heavy he asked, "Have you seen Sara?"

"She left at least ten, fifteen minutes ago." She opened the door to her locker, which blocked her view of him, and she gathered her things as she continued to speak.

_This is a golden opportunity._

"Tough case, huh? We did a good job putting all the pieces together. It's sad what people do, what people think they need to be happy." He always enjoyed that type of philosophical talk.

Although she wasn't one to ask a man out, she sensed her advantage might be fleeting. "You want to go get a cup of coffee or something?"

When she closed her locker door, she discovered that the room was empty.

TBC


	7. Unraveling Part 1

**A/N** Hopefully this nice long juicy chapter, broken down into two parts, will make up for the fact that it has taken me so long to write this. Thanks for your patience, your reviews, and for the nominations for some of my stories for best CSI fanfiction stories! And thanks always go to the wonderful Eileen, Leslie, smryczko, and Tracy for their constructive comments and suggestions.

**Also, please note, this chapter is rated T (or R) to reflect mature content**.

**Chapter 7 **Unraveling Part 1

Sara 

"So which of you lovely ladies wants to bet that I can make this shot from here?" Greg grinned infectiously, as he wadded his paper basketball more tightly together. It was an ambitious proposal, shooting from the doorway of the break room to the trashcan by beside the refrigerator, more than halfway across the room.

Graveyard shift had started twenty minutes ago, but Grissom had been summoned to an urgent conference call before he'd been able to give out assignments. So the troops were amusing themselves as they waited, thankful for a little down time.

"What's the stakes?" Sofia asked, with mild interest. She stifled a yawn, for they'd been working especially grueling hours this week.

Greg considered it. "How about dinner at Casa de Greg?" he playfully suggested.

The blonde shuddered. "No offense Greg, while you are a man of many talents, I seriously doubt that cooking is your thing. How about a beer after shift? You miss, you buy."

"I'll take that action. How about you Sara?"

The slim brunette was reclining in a chair at the conference table; with her feet propped against the edge of the table and her blue jean clad legs fully stretched out. The latest edition of a forensics journal was spread open in front of her, resting against her thighs, so it appeared as if she was engrossed in her reading. But truthfully, she was as exhausted as the rest of the team, with eyelids that tended to slide shut. And then her thoughts wandered from work to more pleasurable matters.

Greg's voice pulled her back to reality with a sudden start. It wasn't like her to indulge in such idle daydreaming, especially at work.

"Huh?" She tried to recall the gist of the conversation, for she hadn't been paying attention. "Um…no thanks."

"Your loss. Drum roll please."

Sofia dutifully banged on the tabletop.

Greg did his own commentary. "He carefully aims. He shoots, and he…misses."

"You owe me Sanders," Sofia reminded him with a saucy smile.

While their supervisor's entrance to the room would've put a damper on their playful exchange, Grissom's incensed scowl doused it entirely. Everyone swiftly took a seat, while Sara rearranged herself to sit properly. Grissom chose a chair next to Sara, so Sofia accordingly selected the other one flanking him.

As they got settled, Sara allowed her eyes to briskly sweep over Grissom, taking in his appearance. She'd only recently permitted herself to partake of this guilty pleasure, for in the past it had only lead to frustration. The frenetic pace of this week's caseload was getting to him too; she noticed more furrows around his eyes and lines of strain bracketing his mouth.

Since he was wearing a short-sleeved gray polo shirt, she could distinguish the well-developed muscles in his arms. The texture of his shirt looked soft, she wondered briefly what it would feel like between her fingers. As always, his beard was well trimmed, she remembered how it had prickled against her neck that night at the opera.

_Careful Sara careful, you need to concentrate on work._

"Please tell me it's a light night," Greg begged earnestly. "I'd love an evening of catching up with paperwork without overtime or double shifts. My social life is starting to suffer, all I've had time to do this week is sleep."

Grissom dryly half chuckled as he shook his head, "Afraid not. We've got a B&E, and death under suspicious circumstances in Caliente."

"Caliente? That's in our jurisdiction? That's at least a two hour drive from here," Sofia complained.

"Call it a professional courtesy, the sheriff just offered our services," Grissom explained, with heavy sarcasm. "Sofia, you've got the B&E and anything else that comes up locally tonight. If you get into a bind, you can always contact Catherine and coordinate things with swing shift. Greg and Sara are with me."

"Three people for one case?" Sofia commented, as she perused her manila folder.

He shrugged with annoyance, "Actually, our victim was the brother of the town's mayor, who just happens to be the cousin of our junior state senator, found dead in the town brothel, which, by the way, everyone claims does not exist, and is really the local dance studio -- one of those political things, I guess. High profile investigation."

Sofia nodded with appreciation as she left the room.

"So who's driving?" Greg asked with a gleam in his eye. "I can cut that time down to only an hour and a half."

Suddenly some of the tension in Grissom's facial muscles began to dissipate. "I thought you could. That's why you're driving David to the scene."

Greg's expression clearly revealed his confusion, for this suggestion didn't follow any customarily established procedures.

The older man tried to explain, somewhat unevenly, "To help…" Was he merely searching for the right words or was he seeking an excuse to justify his suggestion? "…expedite matters." Sara and Greg exchanged perplexed glances. Then Grissom turned to Sara, and said, in better spirits, "C'mon, you're with me."

Her heart foolishly started beating faster, for this would be the first time they'd been alone for more than a few brief moments since their interrupted date three nights before. The cautious side of her warned that maybe she was being foolhardy. She could be reading far more into their evening together than it actually meant to Grissom. Regardless of the depth of her feelings for him, his outer shell remained relatively intact. His true feelings were still a mystery to her. She desperately wanted to believe that he felt the way she did. The man who had taken her to the opera seemed completely captivated by her, and already starting to fall in love with her.

It had frightened her that night to see how quickly his professional mask had fallen into place. Though, perhaps that was a result of years of experience in this field, rather than indifference to their time together.

Or perhaps their evening together had meant the same to him as his dinner with Sofia?

_No, that's not true._

Very uncharacteristically, Grissom had made an effort to discuss personal matters with her while they were at work. As she and Sofia were processing the Raines' house, only a few hours after their interrupted date, she had spoken to Grissom on the phone. After discussing the case, Grissom briefly assured her that he had her evening gown, and that he would take good care of it. The dress was still in his custody. In a later call, he'd even invited her to join him for lunch.

However, since they'd closed the case far later than expected that day, the timing hadn't worked out. She'd hung around the locker room for a reasonable interval, hoping he'd stop by. Although it was sorely tempting for her to stop by his office, she sternly reminded herself that she was done chasing him. Since she didn't want to appear too eager and Sofia seemed far too curious, she reluctantly left to get some sleep, assuming he'd try to contact her later.

Grissom's voice pulled her back to reality. "I'll drive," he volunteered with some enthusiasm. His pleased grin rapidly faded as his cell phone rang once again. As he grimaced and flipped it open to answer it, he told her, "I'll meet you at the car in a few minutes."

Sara packed up her field kit and waited in his car for at least ten minutes before he came rushing out.

"Sorry, this case is a political and logistical nightmare," Grissom explained as he got into the vehicle and slammed the door. Then he started searching his pockets for his keys.

"I thought you tried to stay out of those," Sara smirked.

"I do, but unfortunately this politicking resulted in allowing an understaffed, inexperienced lab to botch up evidence, and that I will not tolerate," he stated indignantly.

When he put the keys into the ignition, she could swear that there was a brief moment when their eyes met and they held each other's gaze.

_He's glad to see me too._

Sara was actually looking forward to their two-hour ride. Presumably there would be sufficient time for some personal conversation after they'd prepared for the case? Perhaps cell phone reception wouldn't be the greatest en route to the scene? Or would that be too much to hope for?

Those issues became irrelevant as Greg dashed across the parking lot, dramatically flung open the car door and sank into the back seat of their vehicle.

Gasping for air, he explained, "David already left, I'm sure glad I caught up with you guys."

"Yeah," Grissom sighed.

Sara sighed too, trying not to be conspicuous. There went the best opportunity she'd had over the past few days to chat with Grissom about their date. Greg's unexpected arrival put Grissom into an especially foul mood that he took out on the unlucky folks at Caliente whose incompetence had bungled the homicide investigation of a prominent figure. He spent most of the journey arguing over his cell phone with the investigators. Sara sighed again; it was going to be yet another long night.

XXXXXX

As she stood beneath the steamy spray, Sara thought that a shower had never been quite so welcome. She was thrilled to wash off the accumulation of almost two days of grime from her skin. As expected, the situation at Caliente was enormously complicated. Grissom lost his temper and essentially threw the inept local team off the scene. She'd rarely seen him in such form before, the unflappable Gil Grissom on the verge of losing control. Then the three of them methodically made the case, piece by piece, from the very beginning. It was a long and painful process, due to the careless mistakes made by their local counterparts. Given the delicate nature of the situation, everyone in the small town had a vested interest in the outcome, so it was difficult to determine the truth.

After methodically collecting the evidence, they sent the more critical pieces back to their lab in Vegas to be further process. David transported the samples, along with the body. They processed what they could at the local hospital lab, and pressed on, taking minimal breaks, anxious to complete the job and return home.

Even though Sara didn't require large amounts of rest, she still had her limits. She caught some sleep on a battered office couch, just as Greg and Grissom had. However she'd woken up only a few hours later to discover Grissom elbow deep in evidence, so she joined him, ignoring his half-hearted protests. Despite their exhaustion (or possibly because of it), they were able to work smoothly together, not needing many words, anticipating one another's needs. They were too tired for any distractions, purely focused on the job at hand.

Sara dozed during most of the return trip to Vegas, and Grissom was so exhausted that he actually allowed Greg to drive. Once they pulled into the lab parking lot, Sara hurried inside to retrieve her purse before heading home to crash. After slamming her locker closed, she turned and almost bumped into Grissom.

"Sorry," she gasped, startled to see him and somewhat flustered by the feel of her shoulder grazing his chest.

"Let's get something to eat," Grissom blurted out.

Even though she was bone weary, she smiled. "Ok."

Was this it? Would they finally get the opportunity to talk? Due to so many false starts and her exhaustion, she was cautious about getting excited about the prospect.

They left the locker room and walked swiftly through the lobby, trying to dodge the inevitable distractions. When they stepped out into the sunny parking lot, Jim Brass approached them.

"Hey, how'd it go in Caliente?"

Grissom muttered, "You don't want to know." He attempted to keep moving, but Brass had stopped.

"C'mon, I used to know Detective Akins. Hard to believe that he'd be part of such a mess. You gotta tell me about it. We're off the clock, let me buy you a drink."

"Sara and I were just going to breakfast," Grissom hastily explained.

"Great, I'll join you. I wanna hear all about this."

So their intimate breakfast became a post conference of evidence and observations. It was about as romantic as the mandatory department ed. day.

Sara silently began to fume, becoming increasingly frustrated by this ridiculous situation. She wished that Grissom had been man enough to tell Brass to leave them alone, that their breakfast date was private. But, that would've been rude since Brass was more than just a co-worker to Grissom. It also would've drawn undue attention to their changing relationship, which was far from clear at this moment. Grissom wasn't ready for that, neither was she for that matter.

Frankly she found it astounding that he'd had the guts to ask her to breakfast at all. At least it appeared that he was still interested in her, despite the fact that it seemed as if the fates were against the two of them ever having any privacy.

Yet, as she worked up lather with her soap, she wondered if Grissom really wanted to talk with her about pursuing a relationship, why didn't he just call her on the phone like any normal human being would? What was the big deal about that? Or even drop by her apartment? That would be effective.

She sighed, knowing neither was Grissom's style. Being a private individual, he'd hesitate to drop by unannounced. Talking about his feelings was so foreign to him that he'd avoid the phone, and he'd have extreme difficulty discussing these things at work, with such potential for an eavesdropping audience. It wasn't his way. And to be fair, she also had to admit that they'd barely had enough time to sleep during their exceptionally limited off-duty time this week.

She hoped that he'd figure it out soon, for it was becoming more challenging to concentrate on her work at the lab, as if seductive invisible pheromones were irresistibly drawing her attention to her man. It was both an exhilarating and exasperating sensation. A part of her long dormant was reviving, starting to blossom. It was a heady, giddy rush counterbalanced by cold fear.

It flabbergasted her that her emotions were becoming this over powering, for over the past years she'd successfully managed to squelch those impulses. What was different now?

In her heart, she acknowledged that she already knew the difference. Now, there was a faint glimmer of hope. Hope that he might have the same feelings for her. Hope that he could conquer whatever demons had been holding him back for the past years.

Just thinking about Grissom and their kiss made her body feel warm and tingly. Had it been that long since she'd been with a man?

_Yes._

Her emotions were confusing her; she didn't want to rush into things, yet her body was demanding more. After all it wasn't as though Grissom was a stranger, they'd danced this tango for years. Now that they'd taken the first steps towards a closer relationship, she was anxious to follow them to their logical conclusion.

After their evening at the opera, she'd started to relax some of the rigid mental boundaries she'd erected for her peace of mind. She allowed herself to daydream about the possibility of a future with him. She also let her thoughts meander, wondering about him and his body. She let herself taste the passion for him that she'd buried in heart and body for so long.

She began to fantasize, imagining that Grissom was standing behind her, naked, in the shower. She breathed deeply, trying to recapture the memory of his taste and smell. She envisioned his hands reaching around her, cupping her breasts, so she moved her own hands there to fill the emptiness.

She'd seen his hands countless times meticulously handling delicate insects or other specimen. How would they feel against her skin? Would he be tentative, slowly caressing the pliant flesh, letting the anticipation build? Or would he be carried away by passion, squeezing her nipples until they became taut peaks and she moaned with urgency? With her hands, she began to fulfill both versions of the fantasy, her slow caresses gradually becoming rougher. She gasped as her arousal increased.

As she continued to stroke herself, she wondered what would he say as he touched her? Would he murmur sweet endearments or did he prefer to talk dirty while making love? What would she call him? Grissom seemed a bit formal yet she wasn't entirely comfortable with Gil.

C'mon…Grissom…touch me.

As the warmth between her legs increased, she was aching for him to touch her core, so she began to stroke herself there, pretending her hand was his. She imagined the hot kisses he would trail down her neck as he murmured more sweet words in her ear, with his firm erection pressing against her thighs. Her breathing became more rapid as she began to rub herself faster.

"Oh god..oh god" she moaned.

What endearment would he call her when he came? Would he scream her name? What would it be like to see the stoic Gil Grissom totally out of control in the throes of ecstasy?

She gasped as her body began to writhe and her strokes became more frantic.

How big was he? How would it feel when he entered her? She used her fingers to mimic that action as she continued rubbing herself frantically with the other.

"Oh…god…_baby_," she shuddered.

XXXXXXX

TBC in Chap 8 Unraveling Part 2


	8. Unraveling Part 2

**Chapter 8 **Unraveling Part 2

Sara 

Growing tired of these seemingly infinite, irksome delays; Sara decided to cut Grissom some slack. She planned to drop by his office just before their shift that night so they could hopefully agree upon a time to finally have the talk that would lay the groundwork for their new relationship.

As she approached, her steps became slower. Did she really want to do this? Would he perceive this in the right light? Well…she wouldn't bring up _that_ subject; she'd let him do the talking on personal issues

Having settled that matter satisfactorily in her own head, she resolutely rounded the corner only to discover that Sofia was once again making herself comfortable in Grissom's office, hovering by his desk, chattering away. A twinge of jealousy sparked within her, accompanied by a sinking sensation.

What's the deal here? 

She had a clear view of Sofia, who was practically sitting on top of his desk, obscuring her view of Grissom. The blonde smiled then laughed, flipping her hair in that transparent flirty move that Sara despised. Though she could hear the rumble of their voices, she couldn't discern what they were saying.

Sara wasn't going to look like a fool. She retreated to the lab, feeling confused and a little insecure.

_It's probably nothing. You didn't see his face; most likely he's barely tolerating her presence. You're over reacting. You're tired, that's all._

She didn't want to think about it.

She was relieved when she, Greg and Grissom were directly assigned a potential arson case. Sara immediately turned to Greg and declared, "Let's go." She wasn't in the mood to deal with any of Grissom's head games, especially since she was feeling a bit bewildered, and vulnerable. Greg's easy charm and camaraderie along with a challenging case were just what she needed to distract her from over-analyzing the situation.

At the scene, the three of them, clad in coveralls, sorted through the piles of ashes and debris, attempting to identify the source of the blaze. It was a messy and daunting job. While most of the outer walls of the house were still standing and, barring a few gaps, the roof remained intact, giving it the semblance of normality from the outside; once the front door was opened, charred remains were heaped in haphazard piles with trickles of water from the firefighters' efforts collecting in random puddles. Residual smoke lingered in the air, tickling their throats and nasal passages. Two ash-covered adult corpses, a male and a female, were discovered lying in bed in the second floor master bedroom. Was it simply an accidental fire that suffocated the occupants as they slept, or had it been a carefully orchestrated murder?

An hour later Sara brushed off her coveralls and volunteered to accompany Detective Larson to canvas the neighborhood for potential witnesses. Although she wasn't interested in the detective, his appreciative glances, despite her smudged appearance, and his smooth compliments soothed her damaged ego. And Grissom's poorly concealed scowl as he watched her leaving the scene with him also served to boost her morale as well.

From their interviews, she and Detective Larson learned that the owner of the house, Matt Gruen, had recently started a home-based photography business that didn't please his neighbors. One of his next-door neighbors insinuated that he was fronting for pornography, claiming that he'd seen some of the 'clients' who utilized his services. Another neighbor just seemed envious of the man's bright red convertible and gorgeous female companions. No one had witnessed any suspicious activity prior to the fire that evening.

Next she and Detective Larson returned to the station to speak with Miles Berringer, Matt Gruen's business partner and close friend. Unfortunately he had the unpleasant task of positively identifying the bodies. Although the corpses were scorched, he was able to confirm Matt, yet he had no idea who the woman was. Apparently many of his clients liked to pay for their photos using the barter system.

Sara was mildly amused that the formerly headstrong detective let her take the lead with the questioning, while he remained mostly in the background. Grissom must have mentioned his overly aggressive approach during the Reynolds's case to Larson's superior or even spoken with him personally about it.

As they exited the interrogation room, Detective Larson good-naturedly offered to buy her a cup of coffee. Since she was mildly impressed by the improvements in his professional behavior, and she also didn't feel as if she was leading him on, she sat on a bench in the hallway as she waited for his return.

It's just coffee, right? 

The solid support beneath her felt comforting. Usually the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of solving the crimes, revitalized her, regardless of her circumstances. Her passion for her work invigorated her when nothing else did. Her work was her essential oxygen, her life sustaining fuel. Over the past years, she'd pulled multiple consecutive shifts; she'd worked up to three weeks in a row without time off, and even gone three entire days without sleeping. However, tonight she felt as if she was running out of gas. For once, the concept of her night off, beckoning from a distance, wasn't something to be avoided at all costs. In fact, it was the only prospect that was keeping her sane that night.

She looked up, expecting to see Detective Larson, only to find Gil Grissom purposefully striding down the hallway towards her. He paused to sit down on the bench beside her.

"Anything substantial?" he asked.

"Not on the surface. But the business wasn't doing so well, and Miles Berringer as the business partner could possibly benefit from the insurance settlement. He might have the motive. I also don't know if he enjoyed as many fringe benefits as Matt did, if you go get my drift," Sara insinuated.

"Look into that."

"Can you identify the source of ignition?" she asked.

He explained, "We suspect the point of origin was in the photography studio on the first floor, the temperature rose high enough to melt the light fixtures. But we haven't been able to determine what started it."

"They use a lot of different chemicals to develop film," she pointed out.

"True, but none are sufficiently volatile to have initiated the blaze on their own. Although it could've been accidentally set, from the fragmentation damage we saw, it appears as if there was an explosion. No evidence of any incendiary device yet, but we brought some promising trace evidence to the lab to run tests. Keep me posted on Miles and the business finances."

Just as she expected him to leave, he leaned towards her, his hand momentarily covering hers. More softly, he asked, "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

Her face grew warm.

_Damn. I have the worst luck in the world._

"Uh-hem…excuse me.." Sara's cheeks were burning for more than one reason. What horrendous timing. Although Grissom quickly pulled away, their hands had only been touching for less than a minute; it hadn't gone unnoticed by the observant Detective Larson, who seemed mildly perplexed. He carried two cups of coffee.

Sara drew in a sharp breath; Grissom and Larson didn't have a good history, they barely tolerated one another. Especially when it came to her. And God only knew how Grissom was interpreting this little scene.

Grissom abruptly rose, uncomfortable and startled by the interruption. Yet before he bolted, he mentioned to the detective, "She prefers it black, she doesn't like it with cream."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After nearly scalding her tongue in order to finish her coffee as quickly as humanly possible, she escaped Detective Larson's probing glances to hide in the locker room, longing to bang her head against the wall.

What's wrong with me? 

She struggled to choke down tears that threatened to rise.

_I blew it. I single-handedly just gave him an excellent excuse to back off._

After slamming her fist into her locker, she sank onto the bench.

Get a grip Sara. You're exhausted. Things are not what they seem. Do your job and get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.

She hunched over, covering her face with her hands and taking deep cleansing breaths. God help her if anyone was to barge in on her, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions.

If he wants you, he'll fight for you. Let it go.

Strangely enough, that thought gave her some peace. She sat quietly for a few more moments, trying to regain her composure. She was going to be all right. Regardless.

She rose to get back to work when she noticed a wadded up scrap of paper on the floor near her locker. Absently she picked it up and started towards the trashcan on her way out of the room. Mildly curious, she unfolded it, wanting to make sure it wasn't something important that had inadvertently fallen out of her locker.

That was odd; it was a memo for a reminder about a supervisor's meeting scheduled three days ago. She crumpled it up again to pitch it. Then she noticed her name on the back. She froze, recognizing the handwriting.

It was a note. A note to her from Grissom. It read:

Sara,

I had a wonderful time at the opera with you. I'm sorry our evening was cut short. I need to talk with you. Maybe we could

He must've come by the locker room looking for her earlier in their shift. And then he either lost his nerve or got interrupted while writing the note. She found herself foolishly beaming.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sara was scanning the display on her computer screen. Matt Gruen and Miles Berringer's photography business was standing on rocky footing. She also confirmed that Miles stood to benefit from the insurance money. However, Miles had an iron clad alibi for his where-abouts that evening, and there hadn't been any significant unaccountable activity with his bank account in the past months.

Her phone rang, so she answered it. "Sidle."

"Sara, it's me, Grissom. Can you meet me at the scene? I have a theory and I…um…could use another set of eyes. Also, check with Doc Robbins on the tox results on your way out."

Before she could reply, he hung up. So she drove out to the ruins of the Gruen home once more. She was curious about Grissom's theory for after their untimely interruption earlier in their shift, they hadn't had much of a chance to discuss the case. Although it had initially seemed highly probable, Greg hadn't been able to detect the presence of any accelerants or positively identify any parts of explosive devices from the debris he'd brought to the lab. Sara was beginning to dread that this was one of those cases without a clear-cut answer.

She parked on the street and then walked up to the home. With a casual nod, she greeted the uniformed policeman who stood outside the residence, securing the scene. Then she entered the house, looking for Grissom.

"Grissom?" She shouted through the dark, murky room as she turned on her flashlight. She coughed; the air was still somewhat hazy and reeked of smoke.

"I'm back here," he called.

Trying to avoid puddles of water, she gingerly stepped towards the demolished studio, where she saw Grissom descending a small stepladder. Only their flashlights provided illumination. "What are you doing?"

Carefully stepping aside from the ladder, he turned to Sara. "Let's hear about the tox results."

"Clearly they'd been drinking and their blood alcohol content indicated that. But the levels weren't high enough to have killed them. Otherwise, there were no unusual findings. Doc Robbins is officially listing the cause of death as asphyxiation."

He seemed pleased by this finding. "So the fire caused their deaths rather than it being set to cover them up. But why didn't they wake up? This is a relatively new home. The fire alarms are hardwired into the circuitry. Why did they miss the warnings?"

Sara shrugged, "Maybe they were pretty solid sleepers and that combined with their blood alcohol content, they just didn't wake up. Bad luck?"

"That's a possibility. So we still have the question as to whether the fire was accidental or set on purpose," he mused.

She smiled, knowing from his expression that he was dying for her to ask. She could sense the wheels turning in his mind. "What's your theory?"

"Thus far, the indication of an explosion coupled with some of the debris, led us to think that the fire had been set. But, what if it was accidental? What if the fire caused the explosion?"

"You've already ruled out the developing chemicals," Sara reminded him.

"True, something else must have caused it," he grinned cryptically.

"Such as?" She loved it when they got enmeshed in the finer details of a case.

He cautiously picked up the charred stem of a photographic lamp. "These are tungsten lamps. Photographers use them to create better lighting for their subjects. However, these bulbs generate a lot of heat. If left on by mistake, they could have been the initiator for the fire."

"So what do you think happened?"

He explained, "Here's the scenario I envision. Our ladies' man Matt is photographing his beautiful lady friend. Maybe they have a drink or two; they're having fun and getting friendly while he's taking her shots. Things start to get…interesting between them so they go upstairs to the bedroom. The lamps inadvertently are left on, because they're, shall we say, distracted?"

She considered it. "It has potential. But why do you think they were left on accidentally? Couldn't someone have snuck in later?"

Grudging he replied, "It's possible. However, it's impractical to determine if anyone broke into the house, with the fire and water damage, along with all the footprints left by the firemen. Any evidence would've been severely compromised. Still the neighbor walking his dog reported no suspicious activity last night, and the ones next door on either side of this house saw no additional cars in the vicinity."

"So if the fire was accidental, what caused the explosion?" she asked, knowing he already had something in mind.

"Something in this room." He gestured to the ladder and indicated that Sara should climb it. As she did so, he supported the ladder then handed her a flashlight and she began to scan the area. With Grissom's prompting, it didn't take long for her to find it.

"What's this?" She removed a piece of debris that had been wedged in the wall.

"Take a look at the small print on it," Grissom advised.

While it didn't resemble its original appearance in any manner, the remainder of the label clearly indicated that this was once part of a can of hairspray.

"Ah-ha," Sara understood.

"You remember your gas laws, don't you? Boyle's law states that as temperature rises, gases expand. Gases pressurized in a container don't have much room to expand, thus, the explosion. Along with the release of other flammable chemicals."

"It must've been the model's, she used it to fix her hair for the shoot. It makes sense. We could always set up an experiment in the lab to confirm your theory, if necessary. Not bad. But Grissom, you're slipping on me here, don't you remember your high school chemistry? It's Charles' law, not Boyles' law," she teased him good-naturedly as she climbed down the ladder.

Within a moment, his energy seemed to diminish. His eyes didn't sparkle as brightly; his expression didn't appear as vibrant or confident. Perhaps the momentum of the solving the case had been propelling him as well. Although it was an incredibly minor error, it wasn't like him to make such mistakes.

More softly, he mentioned, "You always were my best student. Do you still memorize everything I say?"

Somewhat reluctantly she admitted, "Maybe." Feeling a little embarrassed she turned the focus back to him as she bagged and labeled the evidence. "So why did you need me here? You obviously found the key piece of evidence by yourself."

"It took me a while to find it," he mumbled, trying to justify himself even though he realized how feeble it sounded. So he was suddenly bending over, fiddling with something in his kit. When he finally returned his gaze, he seemed intently focused upon her.

"What?" she wondered.

He approached her, "You've got ash on your face. Hold still." He reached over, presumably to brush the smudge off her cheek, yet his fingertips lingered. Their light brush became more of a caress. Then he closed the gap between them and shocked the hell out of her by kissing her.

Sara was stunned; for a crime scene was the last place she'd expect this to happen. Both she and Grissom were consummate professionals. Yet her common sense flew out the window as she returned his kiss with equal fervor. Their kiss in the elevator had been sedate and restrained compared to this one. This kiss was filled with unbridled longing and intense desire. He was hungry for her, aching for her. As she was for him.

Before they could surface for air, the inevitable interruption came; Grissom's cell phone rang. The two broke apart guiltily, breathing heavily, not sure what to do. Grissom panted as he unclipped his phone and scanned the caller ID. He briefly considered opening it, and then turned it off.

"What are we doing Sara?" his voice was hoarse.

"Let's get some air out back," she suggested. He agreed. So they sat on the concrete slab that remained of the back patio. A full moon provided sufficient illumination for them to make out each other's faces. She'd never seen Grissom so conflicted.

"I'm…sorry Sara. I…didn't mean to lose control like that," he stammered.

"It's okay," she assured him. Her heartbeat was still racing, though she was relieved that Detective Larson or the fire marshal hadn't walked in on them. That would've been a mortifying situation with lasting repercussions.

She had to ask, "Are you upset because you kissed me, or because you kissed me at a crime scene?" It was an important distinction in her mind. However, he wasn't ready to answer that.

Maybe it's a little bit of both.

"I'm not like this. I don't know what's wrong with me." He was confused. Clearly, the imperturbable Dr. Grissom was rattled.

"I know," she softly crooned.

"I…don't know how to do this Sara," he stammered.

"Do what?" she prompted. While she sensed he was finally vulnerable, finally starting to open up and lower his defenses, she didn't want to push him hard. After all, his actions had just fully convinced her that he was losing control.

"We need to talk about _this_, you and me. But not here," he emphasized.

"I agree. What do you recommend?"

"After shift, let's go somewhere, get breakfast, do _something_…."

She reminded him. "I'd like that but we've tried that at least two or three times over the past few days and it hasn't worked out. It's been frustrating. How can we make it work this time?" She couldn't handle any more delays; the thought of waiting another hour or two for the end of the shift was daunting enough. She didn't think he could wait much longer either.

"Come and get me?" he shyly suggested.

While she was more than willing, given his history, she needed to him to take a more decisive step. "I need you to take the lead on this." She wanted to say more, to explain how she desperately needed to know that he wanted this as badly as she did, but she couldn't say it. Besides, it wasn't the right time or place; this was a crime scene.

He considered it. "How about if I'm not at the locker room by seven a.m. sharp, come look for me and I'll make what ever excuses are necessary. Even if I'm stuck with Ecklie."

"You think you can handle that?" Sara wasn't so sure. That would almost be admitting to others that they were becoming a couple.

"It won't be easy, but I want…I need to be with you."

Realizing this was a major concession, she accepted. "Like I said, we can also talk about what we want…from this." Biting the bullet she explained, "For example, I'm the type of girl who needs to have breakfast everyday." Hopefully she wasn't being too subtle and he'd catch on to the fact that she wasn't referring to food.

That seemed to reassure him. "Me too."

Despite her best efforts to restrain herself, she reached for his hand but he pulled it away.

"Sorry, not a good idea right now," he apologized. "Too distracting. I'm having a hard enough time concentrating as it is. I'm looking forward to…breakfast."

She nodded, fully understanding his meaning.

TBC


	9. Laws of Nature Bodies in Motion

**A/N** This is it, the final chapter of **Breakfast with Sara**. I always feel a little sad when these things come to an end, it's been so much fun. Thanks to all of you who've stayed with this story, despite the long intervals between updates! Your reviews have been greatly appreciated, along with the Crimmy Award nomination for one of my other stories. Finally, special thanks go to Eileen, Ms. Grits, and smryczko for their helpful comments and support.

**Please note this chapter is rated 'T' (or R) to reflect mature content**.

**Chapter 9** Laws of Nature - Bodies in Motion

Sara 

Although Sara was somewhat disoriented as she gradually stirred, her lips were curved in a satisfied grin. She could sense the bright sunlight streaming into the room, but she stubbornly resisted its prompting, keeping her eyelids shut to prolong the luxurious comfort of lounging in bed. Lying on her back, the cocoon of soft sheets felt deliciously safe and warm, along with the reassuring weight of Grissom's arm draped possessively across her bare stomach. She languidly stretched her legs and burrowed closer to him so she could feel the ebb and flow of his breath whispering against her shoulder and neck. He was sleeping peacefully.

She wasn't overly concerned about the fact that she was completely naked and had absolutely no clue where her underwear was. After all, it wasn't as if this was some anonymous encounter of her earlier years in which she'd valiantly attempted to convince herself that having sex was the equivalent of being loved. She had no reason to act as she had then – rapidly dressing after a rushed encounter and then darting out the door, feeling emotionally unsatisfied and filled with regrets. For this relationship had far more potential than that.

Thinking about her past led her to wonder what type of romantic associations Grissom was accustomed to. Being such a private man, she wasn't entirely certain. However given his unusual actions over the past few weeks, especially their passionate kisses at the crime scene in the wee hours of that morning, she strongly suspected that their relationship would be a whole new venture for him as well.

Sara peered through her lashes to admire her lover's physique. She'd watched Gil Grissom from a distance for so long, steeling furtive glances here and there. It was refreshing to finally be able to examine him this closely and without reservations. While his intellect had always dynamically engaged her, from the very beginning she'd been physically attracted to him as well.

How pleased she was to discover that those well-muscled arms lead to an equally toned chest. She lightly traced his torso with her fingertips and then lingered on his stomach. Although he'd put on some weight since she'd met him at that forensics seminar in San Francisco, he carried it well. As her eyes darted lower, she remembered how curious she'd been about other aspects of Grissom, the man. She hadn't been disappointed, not in any respect.

Her eyes lazily drifted shut as she recalled the events that lead up to their making love. Their breakfast plans hadn't gone exactly as anticipated, though she had no complaints. Originally, she intended to seriously discuss their groundwork, to be certain that Grissom was as committed to a long-term relationship as she was. For as deeply as she loved him, she knew her heart would break if his interest in her were only casual. She couldn't handle a brief fling; that would destroy her. Thus she needed to know exactly where she stood with him.

She was nervously perched on the bench in the locker room, trying to straighten out her snarled locks with a comb as she mentally rehearsed suitable phrases. Even though the faint aroma of smoke still clung to her hair and clothing (one of those dreaded occupational hazards in her line of work) she wasn't about to let that interfere with her plans. She couldn't tolerate any more delays.

She was excited yet she refused to glance at the time until she was certain it was after seven o'clock. In fact, to avoid appearing overly eager, she purposely sat with her back to the entrance of the room. She planned on giving Grissom at least ten extra minutes before she rose to locate him.

Unfortunately she wasn't alone; Sofia was in the locker room too. She was droning on about something. Sara merely nodded politely at what she hoped were appropriate intervals, pretending she was listening to the other woman. When Sofia's vocal inflection suddenly changed, she realized that Grissom had entered the room.

"What's up?" Sofia asked, her tone subtly becoming deeper, sexier.

Grissom ignored her, focusing his attention directly on Sara, who was still combing her hair. "You ready?"

_Sara smiled shyly as she looked up, pleased to note that the shift hadn't officially ended yet. He was early. And she was even more thrilled that he'd initiated the proceedings, he was most definitely taking charge. Trying to be casual, she replied, "Yeah, give me a minute." She turned to gather her purse from her locker._

"_You need help with a case Grissom? I don't have any plans in particular. I can help you out," Sofia offered as she stepped closer to him._

"_Er…no, that's not necessary," he stammered._

"_No, really. I don't mind. I'd be happy to help," she insisted._

_After closing the door to her locker, Sara scrutinized Grissom's face, wondering if he could stick to his promise. This was a monumental step for him._

_More confidently he responded, "No, thanks. It's not like that. Sara and I have… plans."_

Sara could scarcely control her triumphant grin she was so impressed, even Sofia was temporarily speechless. Grissom took advantage of that moment, gesturing that Sara should join him and they left the locker room together.

Sara was ecstatic but all of their obstacles hadn't been conquered. Would they be able to escape the confines of the building without encountering additional delays? Their track record over the past few days had been terrible. Subconsciously, they picked up the pace, taking brisk steps. As they passed the front desk, Judy shouted that she had a message for Dr. Grissom. He didn't slow down or look back, merely tossing over his shoulder that he'd attend to it later.

After they'd reached the main door and stepped into the parking lot, they allowed themselves a second to smirk giddily at one another. Grissom threw caution to the wind, his arm greedily snaking around her waist, pulling her closer to him as he guided her down the concrete stairs towards his vehicle.

They both had gotten a little too caught up in the moment since Sara only noticed Detective Larson's open mouthed stare as she closed the passenger side door to Grissom's SUV. When she told Grissom about the man's astonished expression, they both broke out laughing.

Typically Grissom and Sara were both cautious people; it was inherent in their nature. Her original goal was to have breakfast in some neutral territory, such as a restaurant, so they could calmly discuss their wants and needs in order to alleviate any fears or doubts; and also to resist the strong temptation of jumping into a physical relationship too quickly.

Yet those rational thoughts had somehow vanished the instant he reached across the SUV to squeeze her hand. Apparently he was on the same wavelength as she was, for he didn't bother to go through the pretense of discussing where they were going. Without a word spoken, it was tacitly agreed that they weren't craving food. When Sara realized that they were approaching Grissom's townhouse, she nodded with approval and poorly concealed anticipation.

Once they stepped into his townhouse, all remaining restraint completely disappeared. Grissom yanked her into his arms, kissing her deeply as they clung to one another. Under different circumstances, their advances might have been more tentative, more controlled. That would've been much more in keeping with who they were. However all the waiting, all those infuriating delays that had taunted them for over a week since their interrupted night at the opera had only served to whet their appetites, to stoke their desire to finally touch each other. There wasn't room in their brains for common sense to reign anymore.

They'd been fully captivated by the overwhelming sensations overtaking their bodies: the warmth of his bare flesh caressing hers as he shoved his hands underneath her shirt, the dampness of his kisses trailed over her lips and cleavage, the gentle suction of her wet kisses on his neck, the tantalizing friction developing between his growing erection and her pelvis.

All too soon, shirts were yanked, zippers tugged, and other pieces of clothing were haphazardly tossed aside. Nearly breathless and partially naked, they staggered into his bedroom, vaguely resembling a mythical two-headed beast for they were loathe to break physical contact for even a moment. After tumbling onto his mattress, they tore at the remnants of their clothing to remove them, stripping to bare flesh. He pinned her beneath him almost immediately for they didn't need to spend much time on foreplay; they were more than ready. Thank goodness Grissom had condoms handy in his nightstand, for in their haste that important factor wouldn't have stopped either of them.

Their frantic, rushed groping had lead to an equally intense coupling. It had been powerful and exhilarating, more wonderful than she ever imagined it would be. Even though it occurred only a few short hours ago, Sara's body still tingled. She fondly remembered that although they were driven at a feverish pace, Grissom's lovemaking hadn't focused simply on his own pleasure. He'd been extremely attentive to her responses and eager to satisfy her as well.

While no utterances of love had mistakenly slipped out, cries of pleasure and tender endearments had certainly filled the air. She beamed as she recalled how Grissom murmured several times about how beautiful she was. And for the first time, she honestly felt as if she'd seen him experiencing his true emotions, rather than masking his responses by presenting a cooler more composed facade. The idea made her giddy. He certainly didn't seem to be holding anything back as she watched his features convulse in ecstasy during his climax.

Of course, she reminded herself as she lounged in bed, still savoring the warmth of his embrace, they hadn't resolved the terms of their relationship. Yet, even though nothing had been vocalized, her confidence was steadily creeping upward with respect to that. After all, the seemingly eternally closed, emotionally unavailable Gil Grissom had brought her to his home, his private refuge, on his own initiative no less. He was comfortable with her sleeping in his bed; he wasn't scrambling to chase her out the door after they'd made love.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten in a while. In fact she was surprised to discover that she was famished. The events of the past few months had caused her appetite to dwindle along with reeking havoc with her digestion. For the first time in a while, she felt ready to tackle a full course hearty breakfast. When she felt like waking up, that is, she was still drowsy.

_Mmm…what _is_ that? Is Grissom moving?_

His hands definitely were, gently stroking her stomach then slowly working their way down lower to caress her thighs. Apparently he was hungry for something else. His touch alone made her long for him, causing all thoughts of food or serious discussion to vanish once again. She kept her eyes closed while enjoying the pleasurable sensations enveloping her body.

When she attempted to turn towards him, Grissom insisted that she simply relax. So she did. His fingers eventually reached her core, which was already damp in anticipation of his attention. His touch was light and slow at first, gradually picking up fire and tempo. Her hips began to sway in response.

Sara was becoming impatient as her arousal escalated and her pelvis started bucking more intently. She wanted more. "I need you now, baby," she begged hoarsely. Then she roughly pulled Grissom towards her, greedily covering his mouth with hers as he straddled her body, eager to accommodate her. When he entered her, she wrapped her legs tightly about his. He was amazing gentle at first, moving slowly, sensually. As his excitement increased, a fierce groan was torn from his throat and he was unable to hold back. His thrusting become more powerful as they both found their release.

Their skin was damp as they collapsed against one another, breathing heavily. Grissom slid to his side and pulled her closer to him. With her head resting against his chest, she could feel his heart thudding. It was a reassuring sound; it was wonderful to be this close to him.

She was half-afraid to say anything, as if she would break whatever magical spell had allowed the past few hours to occur. Unfortunately, reality reared its ugly head before long.

Oh my God. We didn't use any protection.

Sara's body stiffened at the thought. It hadn't occurred to either of them to use a condom that last time. Such rash actions frightened her. While the past few hours with Grissom had been like some gossamer dream, she needed to touch base with solid ground again.

Grissom noticed her reaction. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she mumbled into his chest, reluctant to ruin the moment. But the atmosphere had subtly changed anyway. She suspected that he didn't believe her. So she looked up to face him and bravely suggested, "We should probably talk about…this." Tired of playing games, she added, "About us."

Grissom immediately seemed less confident, though not as shaken as he'd been at the crime scene. "I'm sorry Sara, I didn't want to rush things. It doesn't make any sense; I can't seem to control myself when it comes to you." He blinked in alarm and rapidly assured her, "You know this isn't just about sex, don't you?"

"Of course. Otherwise I'm sure we would've found a way to get it out of our systems long before now." They'd both had their share of casual sexual encounters with others in the past. It was hard to keep her hands off him; her fingertips lovingly traced the edge of his bearded jaw.

"This isn't like me," he muttered, avoiding her gaze. "I don't understand why I'm behaving this way."

"I have a theory I think you can relate to," she smiled, becoming mildly amused by his discomfort. His eyebrow raised, she had his undivided attention. "Newton's law."

"Force is equal to mass times acceleration?" Despite his circumstances, the wheels of his mathematical mind never seemed to stop whirring.

"No, the first law which can be effectively paraphrased as a body in motion tends to stay in motion."

"Yeah?" He wasn't making the connection.

Her grin became more confident. "Correct me if you disagree, but once you decided that this…relationship was something you wanted to pursue, in a sense, you set certain bodies into motion."

"And?" He wasn't following, yet he wasn't objecting either.

She was taking a risk here, but she honestly believed that she was correct in her assumptions. "Consider our opera date as officially starting the bodies into motion. If we hadn't been called in that night, think about the chain of events that would've inevitably occurred. Yet, that natural motion, that course of events, was interrupted."

Her face became flushed and her eyes wandered to parts of his anatomy as she thought of an apt example to illustrate her point. "You could compare that to say, a stallion starting a race."

He chuckled at her choice of words, while also noticing where her gaze was drifting. He was becoming more relaxed. His fingers began to knead her arm.

"He's fit, he's been in training so he's more than ready, he's raring to go, practically aching to run the race. The starting bell rings and he barrels out of the gate. If it had been a false start, do you think the horse would simply stop without a protest? It would be next to impossible for his jockey to rein him in quickly." Her brown eyes were fixed upon his as her voice became deeper. "It's not easy to stop such a powerful force once you put it in motion. It's hard to resist."

She assumed that he agreed with her, for suddenly he was busily kissing her neck.

'Mmm…yeah, hard to resist," he commented between kisses as he worked his way up her neck to her lips.

"Shouldn't fool around with the forces of nature," she teased as she wrapped her arms about his shoulders. His mouth captured hers and their kisses became deeper.

A sound startled them. They froze, but didn't break apart. It took them a moment to realize that the phone was ringing.

_No. Not again._

Both were reluctant to part, but their training was automatically setting in. Duty called. After all, it was part of the job, part of who they were. Grissom straightened up, clearly disoriented, trying to remember where his cell phone was.

"Where are my pants?"

"Living room?" Sara guessed as she scanned the floor for their discarded clothing. Vaguely she could recall tugging them off somewhere in the house while he was still standing.

After stumbling around unsuccessfully trying to locate his pants, Grissom realized that his home phone was the one ringing. He picked up the receiver from the base on the nightstand.

"Yeah, Grissom," he curtly barked.

Maybe it's not work related, it's not his cell. Yeah, right. I don't have that kind of luck. Most likely the office tried his cell first and since he didn't answer it, they're calling his home phone.

Grissom listened for a moment then explained, "Look, you're gonna have to try Catherine or Sofia. I'm taking a few personal days. Don't call me. And by the way, CSI Sidle wasn't feeling well at the end of shift yesterday so she'll be taking a few sick days too. Good bye." He hung up, giving the other person no time to argue.

Sara was stunned.

Grissom wasn't sure how to interpret her expression. "I hope I wasn't being too presumptuous."

Her smile blossomed as she sank onto the edge of the bed. "Not at all. Where were we?"

"I remember but I think we need to talk with fewer distractions." He stepped over to open his closet to remove a dark blue bathrobe. As he put it on, Sara began to casually scan the room for one of Grissom's work shirts or even a T-shirt, something to wear. Perhaps she could improvise with his bed sheets?

He emerged from the closet, holding something behind his back. Somewhat sheepishly he explained, "I hope you won't take this the wrong way. I have a gift for you." Then he handed it to her.

The sleek maroon fabric felt smooth against her hands. It was the same color as her evening gown, which she noticed hanging against his closet door. She unfolded the bundle to discover that it was a short silk robe, which hit her about mid-thigh. The outside was covered with brilliantly colored butterflies. Immediately, she tried it on and admired it. It was a perfect reminder of their first date and his love for insects.

"It's beautiful. Where did you get this?" She was amazed by the thought and effort that went into the gift. She wondered when he'd had the time to shop.

"Internet," was all he would say.

Clad in their robes, they settled more comfortably on his bed, with their backs against the headboard, leaning against each other. She wanted to snuggle up more closely to him, but they'd been putting this off for too long.

No more distractions.

"Grissom, I need to know. What's different now? Last year I heard you tell a complete stranger that you couldn't do it. You couldn't risk losing everything for me. What's changed?" Her lower lip trembled nervously. She hoped he would answer her question.

His expression revealed how shocked he was that she knew of his confession. Yet, he was collecting his thoughts.

"A lot of things."

She prayed that she wouldn't have to lead him through the entire conversation. "Such as…"

"I thought you were more like Debbie."

Her eyes widened.

He quickly added, "Not that you were shallow or slept around, God no. But that your feelings for me would pass. That I was just a crush that you'd be over within a few months. That you'd be moving on and I'd be….well…" His voice trailed off as he sighed.

She waited, anxious to avoid prompting him. A minute dragged by as she stubbornly held her tongue; resisting the urge to speak for him.

It was almost as if he was trying to figure it out himself. Finally he said, "When you told me that you'd come to Vegas for me. That I'd always been more than a boss to you. That's when things started to change."

"You could've fooled me the way you were flirting with Sofia," slipped out before she could stop it. It wasn't pleasant, but she needed the truth. She needed to be able to trust him completely.

"I'm not going to deny that. It's true. I don't know why I….no, I do. I do know why. I was scared Sara. I'm used to order, being in control. I like it. Sofia wasn't you. She was safe. I knew the rules, I knew exactly where I stood. I wasn't risking anything."

"So what's changed?" She doggedly repeated her original question.

He struggled to explain. "Honey, do you remember when I came to your apartment? When Ecklie wanted to fire you for mouthing off to Catherine?"

She nodded.

More softly he reminded, "When you told me about your parents."

She nodded again.

He seemed a little embarrassed to continue. "Ever since then, I've been having these dreams. No, more like nightmares. They start off with you and I interrogating a suspect. Everything seems normal until you lose your temper with him and then he slams his fist into your nose." He involuntarily flinched while saying the latter words.

She was touched; it was obvious from his tone and his scowl that those dreams had disturbed him. In fact, she recalled that Grissom had mentioned to her fairly recently that he'd been having trouble sleeping. From the shadows forming beneath his eyes at the time, it was evident that these dreams had been wearing him down.

Still Sara had to point out. "You went out to dinner with Sofia soon after that day in my apartment."

He admitted it. "You're right. I was trying to talk her into not leaving the lab." Then he added, "I was also trying to keep my mind off of you."

She made a connection. "That's why you took me out to breakfast later that week. Because you were concerned about me." To think that she'd been afraid that he was trying to find a polite way to fire her.

He emphasized, "No Sara, I was _worried_ about you."

"What's the difference?" she chuckled. He still hadn't answered her question to her satisfaction and she wasn't going to let him off. "So what's changed?"

Something had. It must've happened shortly after that fateful breakfast date. It had started with a subtle change in his attitude towards her, though she couldn't pinpoint the exact day. Although Detective Larson's interest may have helped her advance her cause, it hadn't initiated the fundamental changes. Something had shifted within Grissom himself.

He was having some difficulty explaining. "Um..maybe a week or two after the original dream had started, it changed. It got worse. Instead of ending after that bast…um…idiot hit you, the dream continued. I reacted to what I saw." His voice became fainter. "I…I pulled out my gun and shot him in the head." A hint of emotion had crept into his voice so he stopped to better compose himself.

"You know, the funny thing is that I didn't even care that I killed him, that I actually took a human life. I killed him because he hurt you and that was _unacceptable_ to me. I couldn't live with that."

His words were brimming with emotion. If that wasn't a declaration of love, it was close enough. She leaned closer to him, grabbing his hands to offer comfort. "Did you have those dreams a lot?"

"Yeah."

"Have you still been having them?"

He realized, "Not as much. I don't think I've had them since I asked you out."

Since he decided to commit himself to pursuing me.

Just to be certain, she asked, "Are you sure about this? That you want to have a relationship with me? It's not too much to handle?"

He confessed, "It is too much to handle. But I'm miserable without you. Can you help me figure out how to do this? Do you think you can put up with my mistakes?"

"Sure," she kissed his lips gently. He tried to part her lips with his tongue but she pulled back. There was one more concern.

Her heart started beating a little faster. She wasn't sure how he'd react to this. "Grissom, we forgot to use a condom the second time. What if…"

He put his arms about her to reassure her. Calmly, he told her, "We'll deal with it as it comes. Either way. Together."

Sara's stomach had bad timing, growling loudly enough to cause both of them to laugh.

"I need food," Sara claimed, with great relief. "I'm starving."

He started to reach for the phone. "What are you in the mood for? We can order pizza or Chinese?"

She reminded him with a smirk "You promised me breakfast. I don't care if it's three in the afternoon. Can you make good on it?" She seriously doubted that he'd have anything edible in stock, given the hectic nature of the past week. Yet he surprised her.

Grissom insisted upon making omelettes. She had pulled up a chair to watch as he puttered around the kitchen, still clad in his dark blue robe. He carefully cracked the eggs and grated the cheese. He had to improvise for additional ingredients, using canned mushrooms rather than fresh ones, but the aroma drifting from the pan was tantalizing. Her mouth was watering in anticipation.

As Grissom folded the omelet in the skillet, he shyly told Sara, "By the way, I'm the type that likes to have breakfast everyday too."

THE END


End file.
